


Roulette

by Blood_Red_Roulette_2020



Series: The Harlequin [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Organized Crime, Partners in Crime, Physical Abuse, Psychological Drama, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 114,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blood_Red_Roulette_2020/pseuds/Blood_Red_Roulette_2020
Summary: When the infamous contract killer Roulette is sent to Gotham to assassinate the criminal mastermind known only as the Joker, the entire city becomes subject to their deadly game of cat and mouse, as Roulette slowly begins to realize she stands no chance against the Joker - in more ways than one.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Harlequin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726567
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Hey there, thank you so much for visiting my fanfic! Quick note, the character of Roulette is very loosely based on Harley Quinn, however I knew my character was going to deviate so much from the original version of Harley that I just decided to make her an OC, as I thought that would be simpler. In terms of the timeline of the Dark Knight trilogy, this fanfic is set about a year after The Dark Knight (so in early spring of 2009), and in this universe the events of The Dark Knight Rises have not taken place. Including this, the story is written kinda like a comic book/superhero movie, so there is definitely some suspension of reality lmao. I also wanted to say that this story contains sensitive content and mature themes, so I'll include a trigger warning list below (if I miss any that you think I should add, please, please, please let me know! I would never want anyone to be inadvertently triggered from reading my story), but please be advised of that before you start reading. I'm also really new to writing fanfic (this is my first one), so I hope I'm doing this right. Thank you again for visiting, I would really love to hear what you think about the story!
> 
> TW (these apply to the entire story, not just the Prologue): Explicit language, mental illness, self-harm mention, suicide mention, explicit violence, substance abuse/addiction, physical abuse, and suggestive content.

## Prologue

" _Here comes the woman,  
With the look in her eye.  
Raised on leather,  
With flesh on her mind._"

- **Devil Inside** , London Grammar

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_American Pie_ by Don McLean blasted as screams echoed from down the hall. The smoke of a cigarette filled the room, a sickly glare from the video clips sending a cast over the fumes. "The money will be transferred to your Gotham bank account once the job is complete, of course. But proof of death will be necessary." The man managed to speak perfect English around his thick Russian accent, standing off to the side as a woman several years his junior watched the computer screen and smiled around her cigarette.

_And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye,  
Singin' this'll be the day that I die._

Another scream pierced the still air, seeming to vibrate deep within the woman's bones. "Proof of death will be no problem." She swiveled in her chair to meet the eyes of the Russian man, her hands sloshing a cup of coffee around, as if out of habit. "Just tell Mikhas to keep an eye on the city's local news network."

The man laughed softly at that, scratching his temple with a finger. "Ah, will do, Roulette." He then cleared his throat, seeming to have more to say. However, Roulette could guess at what it might be, and had no interest in hearing it. Instead, she turned back to face the flickering screen once more, setting her drink aside. This freed up her hands to snatch the cigarette from her lips, simultaneously clicking impatiently to the next video clip. It looked like it had been taken straight from a police station's surveillance camera.

_Well, I know that you're in love with him,  
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym._

"Alexei?" Roulette didn't bother to direct her gaze in the Russian's direction as she called his name.

"What?"

She took a long draught from her cigarette, red lips puckering around the small paper stick. The smoke, foul and beautiful all at once, drifted in lazy swirls from her mouth. "It's not that I don't enjoy the presence of your company, but I have some extremely, uh, _urgent_ research I need to do." Once again, a screech of agony punctuated the space in between the two's conversation. Roulette assumed it was only appropriate, given the climate of the whole situation. It seemed to add a true authenticity to the age-old mob houses within Russia, one of which she was currently sitting in.

"Oh, I only had one more thing to say," Alexei stipulated, holding up a single finger in earnest. A small grin came to settle over Roulette's features, and she nodded in the man's direction with only a hint of hesitation. Looking pleased, Alexei strode towards her, checking over his shoulder as though he was afraid someone would enter the room and hear what he was about to say. Roulette highly doubted the words merited this level of urgency. However, Alexei turned back to face her with widened eyes, leaning in close. She raised her eyebrows high in anticipation. "What the hell is this song?"

_But I knew I was out of luck,  
The day the music died._

Roulette lost it. She threw her head back as howls of laughter escaped her, her mouth opened wide as if to scream. Alexei, still playing innocent as to what he had done to cause her to laugh, folded his lips in an effort to prevent his own chuckling. "What? I'm curious!"

" _That_ was what you wanted to ask me?" Roulette gasped out between laughs. "Oh my God, you fucking bastard! And no, don't look at me like that," she slapped his arm as the man's grin turned obviously more smug, clearly pleased with himself for making her laugh so hard. "But I'll tell ya, because apparently Russians have no taste in music." She clicked away from the video clip, pulling up the window which held the song she was blasting. "It's _American Pie_ , a classic."

"Bye bye, Miss American Pie?" Alexei sounded confused even as he read the lyrics off, his Russian accent butchering the tune.

"No, no, just _American Pie_." Roulette clicked back to the video clips, the haunting face popping back onto the screen as she did so. "It's by Don McLean."

"You Americans are all fucking weird, you know this?" The Russian chuckled to himself as he leaned back from the computer screen, crossing his arms over his chest.

"If by 'you Americans' you're referring to the _two_ ya know, then sure, honey." Roulette retaliated, taking a sip of her coffee, the bitterness complementing the staleness of her cigarette well. The taste itself seemed hollow in a way, and she loved it, her mouth left feeling old and rotting.

"Whatever," Alexei scoffed at her, walking back over to the door and resting his hand on the knob. "I will leave you to your…" His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted to the computer screen and all its disturbing images, " _research_." Another scream attached itself to his emphasized word.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Roulette popped the cigarette back into her mouth, front teeth closing in on it instinctually. "It's been awhile since I've been in Gotham, I need to catch up."

_Oh and while the king was looking down,  
The jester stole his thorny crown._

"There is a lot you missed, that city seems to breed the crazies." The Russian shook his head sardonically, pretending to look sad for Roulette's sake. She couldn't tell if his sorrow was supposed to be for the amount of research she had to shift through, or the fact that her home was known for the amount of people who lost their minds while living in it. Perhaps both.

"It _is_ the city of crime." Roulette pointed out with a shrug, adjusting herself in the chair. "I'll fit in." Her hand strayed to brush the barrel of a favorite Glock she had sitting on the desk beside her coffee, the polished metal slipping under her fingers with ease. _A city of villains._

"You will fit in because you couldn't pass a psychiatric test if your life depended on it," Alexei countered, a rather unapologetic smirk adorning his features. Roulette blew a puff of smoke in his direction to show her annoyance, although it did little to the man, who was well out of reach of the cigarette.

"I could fake my way through anything, thank you _very_ much," she murmured under her breath, closing her eyes to quell the flash of hot anger she felt beginning to boil in her veins.

"What?"

"You can _go_." Roulette did not want to speak to Alexei anymore, and she refused to look in his direction as she heard the door squeak open.

"Bye, bye Miss American Pie." The man spoke softly as he closed the door behind him, arrogance at his own cleverness edging the words.

_No angel born in Hell,  
Could break that Satan's spell._

Roulette turned back to the computer, fingers tapping and head bobbing along with the song's beat. The gaunt face on the screen moved before her gaze, eye sockets seemingly filled with nothing but darkness, no matter how hard she looked at the footage. The smile was red enough to match her own crimson choice of lipstick, and the rest of the face was painted a stark white color. _A criminal mastermind who dresses like a clown?_ Her mind churned as her lungs burned up in a cloud of smoke. _Gotham has a lot to answer for._ She clicked away from the video to a plain image, taking in the lurid purple suit and green-tinted hair. _Oh yeah,_ she decided immediately, sitting back with a satisfied sigh, _this one will be fun._ In the distance, another shriek tore open the silence.

_Singin' this'll be the day that I die,  
This'll be the day that I die._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### A few days later

"Anne." The sound of Katarina's voice punctured the dead air, her eyes narrowing as she watched her best friend slip out from behind one of the many furnaces scattered around the boiler room. Katarina had received a note in the mail yesterday - giving her a location and time to meet - which had been signed 'Anne Lynn,' the name of a person she had presumed dead for two years now. Given the sight before her, it was clear that was not the case. A hundred emotions flitted through Kat's mind as she took in the psychopath she called her friend, but she decided to shove all of them but relief and joy aside for the nonce, as the others would be much more difficult to sort through.

"Hey Kat," Anne's smile was warm as she stepped forward so that the sickly yellow light of the boiler room threw her features into sharp relief. She looked much as Katarina remembered her, blue eyes ringed in long lashes, dark blonde hair allowed to hang loose, and blood red lipstick applied with a careful hand. It was obvious these past few years had not changed the girl much, at least not outwardly. _She must be 20 now_ , Kat thought, as Anne was almost exactly one year her elder. A fact that she had never let Katarina forget growing up.

"Are you alright?" It was Anne's turn to break the silence of the stale air, as Kat had allowed the pause to stretch far past the point of awkwardness while she absorbed the shock of seeing her best friend alive again. In lieu of responding, Katarina closed the distance between them with four long strides, reaching Anne and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug.

"All of us thought you were dead, after you disappeared in Russia. Me, your brothers, your parents… we all thought you had been caught somehow and killed." Kat heard Anne chuckle softly against her shoulder, returning her hug forcefully. "Where have you been? Why haven't you contacted me before this?" Katarina pulled back from the embrace, keeping her hands on Anne's shoulders and glaring into her friend's eyes as she allowed her anger at being ignored for two years to slowly melt over her. "I thought you were fucking _dead_ , Anne! How could you do that to me?" Kat knew exactly how, of course. Anne had never been one for empathy or consideration - she had always been something of a bitch - but in the years before her disappearance, after she had gotten caught up with the Falcone mob, she had turned especially vicious and selfish. That particular change in personality had made the blow of her death softer for Katarina, but still not easy by any means. She couldn't help but wonder if these two years had eaten away at what was left of Anne's heart.

"I know, honey," Anne put a placating hand out, her tone unusually gentle, "I'm sorry. I wish I could've contacted you before, I really do, but I couldn't risk it while I was in Russia. Ya know what I do, it's way too risky to try and get in touch with someone you're close with, especially when they're on a different continent." Kat knew what Anne was saying made sense, but she could still feel the heat from her rage; she didn't feel like being reasonable, not while she was freshly angry.

"Seriously? In two fucking years, you couldn't have once found a way to reach out in secret?" She stepped away from her friend, placing her hands on her hips and wincing as her fingers connected with the fresh wound on her side she had received yesterday. Her slight grimace of pain did not go unnoticed by Anne, who had always been far too observant for her own good.

"No, I swear to God." Anne's voice had lowered in volume, doubtless in response to seeing Katarina's pain. "What happened to your side, though?" The girl's brow scrunched.

"Well…" Kat reluctantly raised the hem of the tank-top she was wearing a couple inches, gritting her teeth as the fabric rubbed against the wound, "some petty bastard wanted to kill me, but he was a pretty bad shot, so instead of finishing me off, he gave me this." Katarina tapped her finger beside the injury in indication. "It was just a glancing blow though, and I got someone to stitch me up yesterday, right after it happened."

Anne's eyes, which had been lowered to inspect the sewn up gunshot, raised to meet Kat's gaze once more. She was surprised to find the blue orbs wiped of all emotion, it was suddenly as though Kat were looking into a wax figurine with empty, glass eyes. _That's new._ Beforehand, whenever Anne had been told anything she found surprising, her gaze would betray exactly what she was thinking; it appeared that had changed. She learned how to hide her emotions while she was away. _What else has she learned?_ Kat felt a spark of worry grow in her as she stared at the blank face of her friend.

"You were shot?" Anne finally spoke up, her gaze flicking back down to the wound. "Something tells me I'm not the only one who has a story I need to share." That was also unusual for Anne, who could usually never keep her curiosity contained. It seemed that several things had changed since Katarina had last seen her best friend. Whether those changes were for better or worse was yet to be determined.

"Yeah." Kat averted Anne's eyes, feeling a prickle of discomfort at the thought of filling her in on what had happened in the previous two years. Not only had Kat hooked up with one of Anne's brothers (before he was arrested, that is), her _new_ boyfriend, Robert Stallone, was about thirty years Katarina's senior and a prominent drug lord. Not to mention she had taken up dancing at the Reno, one of the strip clubs Rob ran. There was no easy way to tell your best friend _any_ of those things. But Anne, of all people, shouldn't be surprised, she knew Kat's past. Both of the girls had come from families where love had always been more of an afterthought and where money was the only objective on their fathers' minds. This had led both their parents into criminal pursuits, with liberal connections to the mob and other under-the-table business ventures. Needless to say, this sort of environment had, on top of leading to a slew of fucked up mentalities, also led both the girls to pursue illegal undertakings themselves, as it was all they had ever known. All their siblings, with one exception in Kat's sister, had laid the foundation for this following of their parents' footsteps as well. Criminality ran in the girls' blood, so Anne would hopefully be more sympathetic towards Kat's recent decisions.

"Yeah?" Anne prompted, ripping Katarina back to the present and the flickering lighting of the boiler room.

"Yes," Kat reaffirmed, "but now really isn't the time." Anne nodded at that, remaining silent as though she knew Katarina had more she wanted to say. "Why did you want to meet me here? I know this isn't just you wanting to say sorry for disappearing for two years - which I'm still pissed about, by the way."

Anne grinned at that, "I'd be disappointed if ya weren't, sweetheart." Her smirk widened as Kat sighed in response. "But you're right. I came here to ask if I could stay with you temporarily."

"What-?"

"I know I'm asking a lot. But this is my first week back in Gotham and I've been sleeping in abandoned buildings in the Narrows since I returned. It's exhausting, ya know, dealing with fucking rapists and muggers every night." Anne laughed bitterly as she spoke, clearly not that exhausted by it; Kat was sure she relished the ability to hone her skill at killing with people she didn't have to bother covering up her tracks for, it was probably a refreshing change. "But, in all honesty, you're the only one not in jail I could track down. Both Nick and Will got themselves fucking locked up in Blackgate, as I'm sure you know, and I can't find any of my other friends. My sources aren't that great yet, and ya know these girls are tricky bitches to find."

Katarina nodded as she took it all in. She of course knew that Anne's two brothers, Nick and Will, were both incarcerated in the city's penitentiary, and she wasn't the least bit surprised that Anne was having trouble finding her other friends, as they were most likely stealing, grifting, hacking, or murdering their way through Gotham covertly (Anne had always had an interesting menagerie of friends, Katarina being one of the more moral ones, which was saying something). But, unlike the notable assholes of Gotham, such as the Joker, Anne's friends always kept undercover, and were therefore next to impossible to swiftly track down.

_Do I want Anne to stay with me?_ Kat pondered as she gazed at the hopeful figure of her friend. _What will Rob think?_ While her boyfriend didn't _necessarily_ care what she did with her life, he had always been a little extra protective, given his occupation. This made Kat inclined to think he may have some reservations about Anne, a contract killer who used to (or might still) work for the mob he was so often at odds with, staying with his young girlfriend. Thankfully, if Anne did come to live with Katarina, Rob wouldn't have to meet her, as he never spent the night in Kat's apartment; if he wanted Kat with him, he always called her to his own safehouse on the outskirts of the city. But that still didn't sort out the problem of Katarina's own anger at Anne. A large part of her wanted to give into the vicious temptation of denying Anne a place to stay, purely out of spite, but another, bigger part of Kat knew that she had to give in. Not only would she be safer with Anne sharing her roof (and Katarina would take all the protection she could, since some of Rob's enemies were now starting to get wind of her connection to him), but it would also give Kat an opportunity to keep an eye on the girl, which she felt would be best for both Anne and Gotham.

"Alright," Kat sighed resignedly, watching as Anne's face split into a wide grin. _She almost looks deranged when she does that._ Katarina knew it wasn't the nicest thing to think of her best friend, but it was true. Anne's eyes had always seemed to hold a violent glint, and paired with a huge red smile, it made for an unsettling image. _A female Joker._ The thought crept into Kat's mind before she could stop it - the bloody grin must have done it. She shuddered even as she tried to push the intruding idea away; that was absolutely the _last_ thing Gotham needed. Kat had no clue how much Anne had heard of the Gotham news while she was in Russia, but she did know her friend well enough to understand that it was a truly terrible idea to tell her about the Joker, if she didn't already know. Anne would take it quite personally if she caught wind of someone more fucked up than her, and God only knew the lengths she would go in order to remedy that. _This is why it's best she stays where I can keep an eye on her._

"Thank you!" Anne leapt at Kat, throwing her arms around her in appreciation. "I don't have many things, so I won't take up much space. I always had to travel light in Russia, and most of my stuff couldn't be transported on planes." Kat shot her a questioning stare at that. "Uh, the airlines don't really like people trying to smuggle assault rifles and penthrite across continents," she elaborated. "So that means I only have this-" Anne reached beneath the red bomber jacket she was wearing and withdrew a Glock, turning it around in her hand, "-and a few knives. That was all I could manage to safely hide in my luggage. The rest of my equipment should be arriving soon, a friend of mine is smuggling it to Gotham for me."

Kat didn't ask what sort of 'friend' this was, she knew better. "That's fine, my apartment isn't in a nice area of Gotham, so I suppose it won't really matter what sort of weapons you're keeping there." Katarina motioned for Anne to follow her as she began to lead the way out of the boiler room. "Just nothing which could blow up the place, okay?"

"Gotcha," Anne winked as she obediently followed, but Kat didn't believe her compliance for a second. She had no doubt that Anne would begin attempting to store grenades and napalm in hidden caches all around the apartment the first chance she got. Katarina made a mental note that she would need to start seeking out all possible hiding places for explosives and check them often, now that Anne would be living with her.

"Thanks. I'm guessing you came here through the back entrance?" The boiler room the two girls had been conversing in was in the basement of the Lee Holden Bar, just outside of the Narrows, but close enough that the crowd was always filled with clearly shady people. Anne and Kat would draw no suspicion, even if they would be exiting through the basement's back door.

"Yeah."

"Great, I parked my car around the back anyway." Kat checked Anne once more, realizing she had no bag with her. "Where's your stuff?"

"I left it hidden near where I slept last night. It's, uh, in the Narrows." Katarina saw Anne shoot her a glance out of the corner of her eye. "Would ya mind swinging by there real quick?"

"Yeah, it's no problem." Anne smiled in response.

The two wasted no time in hurrying up the steps to the back door of the bar, and swiftly locating Kat's car, which was only parked a few yards away. Once they had climbed inside, Katarina made good on her promise to head to the Narrows, driving past the city blocks at an almost-certainly-dangerous speed. She had always been one to see speed limits as more of suggestions.

"You need to take a shower when we get back to my apartment," Kat spoke up as she drove, sniffing the air of the car delicately. She doubted Anne had been able to shower since she arrived back in Gotham, and it was evident.

That made a laugh spill from Anne's lips, red splitting to reveal the pearly whites beneath. "Oh, for sure. Ya know how hard it is to try to clean up blood with makeup wipes?" When Kat shook her head to signify she didn't, Anne continued, "Pretty fucking hard. They're all I've had to wash with since I got back. They don't do much in terms of eliminating smell either, as ya can tell."

Kat made a noncommittal noise in response, focusing on the road as Anne directed her through the Narrows, to the spot she had stashed her belongings.

"Are you gonna tell me what you were doing in Russia and why you suddenly came back?" Katarina broke the silence as the car rounded a corner onto a pothole-ridden street.

"Just a minute. Stop here," Anne motioned to a patch of road right in front of an alley, two rotting buildings situated on either side. "I'll be two seconds." Then she was hopping out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Kat watched, vehicle safely locked, as Anne jogged down the alleyway, pointedly ignoring the leers she was getting from several men ambling down the sidewalk. Kat did her best to ignore them as well, averting her gaze and looking at her steering wheel, thinking she would just drive away if anyone attempted to break into the car. Anne could fend for herself in the Narrows, Katarina could not.

A commotion in the corner of her eye drew Kat's attention back to the alleyway. Anne had retrieved what looked like a duffel bag from behind a heavily graffitied dumpster, and it was currently slung over the shoulder of the arm she was using to point her gun at a man. _God, she was in that alley for less than five minutes and she's already threatening to kill someone… she clearly hasn't changed that much._ Kat chuckled to herself as she watched the interaction intently. It appeared that Anne was growling something at the man as she circled her way back towards the mouth of the alley. Then… Katarina was jumping in her seat as a bang echoed throughout the street. The man had dropped dead and Anne was jogging back to the car, a fine spatter of blood scattered across her face and presumably her jacket, although the red coloring made it impossible to tell.

"Sorry 'bout that," Anne apologized as she hopped back into the car, Kat unlocking the doors just in time. "But it's nearly impossible to walk into an alley around here at night and _not_ get threatened."

"It's fine, just don't get any blood on my car seats, okay?" Anne nodded in compliance as Kat stepped on the gas, angling the car back towards the heart of the city, where her apartment was situated. As they drove, Anne filled Kat in on what had happened during the two years she had disappeared (although Kat assumed she left a great deal of detail out).

Anne had started working as a contract killer and enforcer for Carmine Falcone, the premier mob boss of Gotham, five years ago. It had been at her father's behest, as he had been grooming her for a position with Falcone since her birth. Anne's two brothers had been given to Falcone as well, both as enforcers, working their way up the mob ranks slowly. Neither of them, however, had managed to curry the favor that Anne did with the boss, as she quickly became one of Carmine's best contract killers, despite her age and gender. Her success could be attributed to a number of factors, from her natural inclinations towards apathy, a driving thirst for power and notoriety, a dedication to her grueling workout regime, and a distinct cunning that wouldn't exactly pass as _smart_ , but was clever enough to make Anne a good manipulator. Of course, a large part of her success was also due to one of Anne's other friends, Pari, a genius who happened to make a career out of computer hacking, a skill which Anne had wasted no time in utilizing for her own benefit. This lethal combination of factors had quickly foisted Anne to the attention of Falcone, who would eventually entrust her to travel to Russia in 2007 to assassinate a man who had fled Gotham after double-crossing the boss.

That much Kat had already known. "Yeah, I knew that. What happens while you're in Russia? Do you kill the guy you're supposed to?"

"I'm getting to that," Anne snapped back, her voice flat.

Anne had found the man she was supposed to kill rather quickly, and assassinated him as she was told, this being the first job she had ever completed without the help of Pari. However, she soon found she had lost all contact with Falcone and his organization. Later, she would discover that this was because the man had been driven insane by Dr. Jonathan Crane and carted off to Arkham, which left Salvatore Maroni to take up the mantle of Carmine's operation. With both her brothers locked up at this point, her position within the mob as contract killer had been lost in the shuffle, and no one had ever contacted her. Anne had been about to return to Gotham when she was approached by some men in Moscow working for the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the most prominent branch of Russian mafia. They had been following her and were impressed with her work, so they had come to offer her a job. Anne had accepted, thinking that if Falcone was gone, she had no future for a viable career in Gotham anyway.

While there, Anne had been trained by a handler named Alexei, who had taken a liking to her. Given his high rank within the Bratva, as Alexei was directly related to Mikhas, one of the bosses, Anne had done her best to make sure he continued to like her. Under his guidance, Anne became one of the best contract killers the Solntsevskaya Bratva had, as well as a drug trafficker, bank robber, and high-level enforcer. Alexei had also introduced her to the best combat instructors the Bratva had on their payroll, realizing that if Anne was going to hold her own in the mafia as a woman, she would need to be specially trained. Including this, he had taught her to speak Russian, French, and Italian, often beating her when she failed to meet his expectations. This had incentivized her to pick up the languages very quickly. Eventually, she opened up bank accounts in Russia and America through a string of fake identities, and slowly amassed a good deal of cash. She even earned the nickname ' _Рулетка_ ,' or Roulette in English, because of her luck at said game.

"I played a thousand times, I swear Kat, I should be dead." Anne chuckled as her eyes flashed in the streetlights.

Katarina decided to ignore that, thinking that if Anne wanted to gamble with her own life by playing Russian roulette, then Kat certainly wouldn't be able to convince her not to. "Ok, so you got caught up with this Russian mob and you get better at killing? Why are you back then? Did you and the Bratva have a disagreement or something?"

"Nah, I'm one of the best they've got, Mikhas would never let me leave alive." Anne shook her head. "I'm, uh, here for a job."

Kat turned and shot her friend a glare as the car stopped before a red light. "You're here to assassinate someone?" Anne's silence was all the confirmation Kat needed. "And here _I_ was thinking you just came back because you felt bad for leaving your friends and family in the dark on _whether you were dead or not_." Katarina gritted her teeth as she put her foot to the accelerator. "But no, you're back because your really fucked up job told you to come back. Honestly, Anne, I should just kick you out of this car right now."

" _Hey!_ You were the one who asked why I was back. What do ya want me to do, lie?" Anne retaliated, her voice rising at an alarmingly fast rate.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Kat muttered mutinously, but resigned herself to the fact that the last thing she wanted right now was an argument with Anne, who she wasn't _totally_ sure wouldn't kill her. In light of that, she took a calming breath and asked, "Who is it you have to kill this time? Some on-the-run double-crosser again?"

"Um… not exactly." Anne's voice took on the tone that alerted Kat she wasn't going to like whatever was about to come out of that girl's mouth next.

"Who then?"

"Well," Anne paused, and Katarina saw her pressing her lips together in preparation. "Ya know the Joker?"

"No. No. Oh my God, _no_."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Up Next** : Roulette (aka Anne) begins searching for an old friend and a way into Arkham.


	2. A City of Villains

****

### **A City of Villains**

" _All you have is your fire,_

_And the place you need to reach._

_Don't you ever tame your demons,_

_But always keep 'em on a leash._ "

- **Arsonist's Lullabye,** Hozier

* * *

Anne strapped on her shoulder holster and jammed her Glock into it, before throwing a sweatshirt on as well, big enough so that no lumps from the weapon were visible. Her hair, which was long enough to be identifiable, she pulled into a bun and slipped a beanie on top of. With that, she gave herself a once-over in the mirror. _Not bad._ She had chosen combat boots for the day, great get-away shoes but also nondescript choices. Her pants were simple jeans, as she knew that choosing baggy cargo pants, while more practical when it came to concealing weapons, would've made for an outfit far too conspicuous, especially in broad daylight. On top of it all, her face was blank of any makeup, which would help with blending in.

Anne was going in search of an old friend of hers' today, Pari Khadem, a brilliant computer hacker who had helped with some of her past jobs. Anne's supply of informants may have been lacking since she had been out of Gotham for so long, but she didn't need an extensive spy network to find traces of Pari. She knew her friend well enough to notice telltale marks in hacking jobs the Gotham newspaper covered. And given that Anne could only find traces of Pari in Gotham-related jobs, she was confident that the girl was still living somewhere in the city. Granted, that hardly made the search pinpointed, but it was certainly better than nothing.

Satisfied with her attire, Anne made her way from the spare bedroom Kat had lent her, into the main living room. It was empty, as Katarina was gone for the day, spending time with her boyfriend. _Sugar daddy, more like,_ Anne sneered to herself. Yesterday, after she had shared the tale of her past two years in Russia, her friend had been obligated to tell her story as well. Kat's situation had annoyed Anne more than shocked her; of course she had known that Katarina's blatant daddy issues would eventually manifest in a relationship quite like the one she had now, she had just been hoping it would be later on in life. _He'll turn abusive yet, I just need to give it time. Then I'll be able to kill him without Kat becoming angry._

Anne's eyes found the small wicker basket next to the front door where Kat kept her car keys. It was empty. "Damnit Kat, can't ya have your boyfriend pick you up?" Anne hissed angrily into the air. She had no car as of yet, and since hotwiring one in the middle of the day, in Midtown Gotham no less, was more risk than she was willing to take this early on in the game, she resolved herself to the fact that she would be searching the city on foot. No easy task, but at least she would get her cardio in.

Slipping out the front door, she hurried down the three flights of stairs that led to the lobby of the apartment complex. Anne kept her head down on the way out; while she always used the fire escape to leave when she was in full makeup, she had figured that going out into the building with such a plain guise was safe enough. She wasn't planning on committing any serious crimes today, so the police would have no reason to be checking surveillance footage. In any case, Kat's apartment was only a temporary residence. Hopefully, Anne would soon be able to set up her own safehouse somewhere in the city, and therefore eliminate the need for all the extra precautions she currently had to take just to leave the apartment.

No one seemed to think anything of her, however, as she pushed out of the building and into the bright, spring sunshine. Gotham glittered before her eyes, glass panels dazzling against the sky, causing Anne to squint as she adjusted to her surroundings. The noise was overwhelming as well, flooding her senses with car screeches and human shouts. _So fucking loud._ She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her immediately agitated nerves; she would just have to do her best to block out the incessant sounds of humanity. _God, I hate the city._

Recovering quickly from her irritation, she swiftly checked the opposite street for any suspicious characters before deciding to head right, falling into step with the steady flow of human traffic. _Where to?_ Her brain whirled as she kept her eyes alert for any potential threats. She didn't trust Gotham, not even in broad daylight. This city had far too many villains for her to ever let her guard down.

Anne had already established that Pari would never settle in the Narrows, or anywhere in which her physical being was at serious risk. The girl was not much of a fighter - preferring to keep her illegal scams well contained in cyberspace - therefore, Anne was sure Pari would've chosen somewhere well-to-do within the city. She had the money for it, and she was adept enough at covering up her digital footprint that she need not fear the police locating her. _The Palisades, then?_ But even as the thought crossed Anne's mind, she dismissed it. It just wasn't Pari's style. _The Diamond District?_ That seemed more realistic, it was home to the corporate giants, such as Wayne Enterprises, which Anne knew would attract Pari to the area.

Her mind made up, Anne directed herself towards the Diamond District, starting the long trek there. As she walked, she thought over her plan for assassinating the Joker. From what she had found during her research in Russia, the man was a genius, a complete psycho, sure, but also a genius. He was currently being held in Arkham Asylum, following his last battle against the Batman nearly a year ago. But Anne doubted he would be staying there for much longer, if anything she had read about him was an indication. She assumed he was planning his escape this very moment, which was one of the main reasons she was so keen to pull off the hit quickly. For now, she knew exactly where he was and could develop a plan to break into Arkham (as she was currently doing). However, if he escaped, his location would suddenly become exponentially harder to pinpoint. She had surmised that the Joker was quite good at hiding himself in the city, as even Batman had never been able to find him when he didn't want to be found. Anne may have been a good tracker (Russia was quite a bit larger than America, and much more isolated, which made tracking people in the US a piece of cake in comparison), but she didn't like her chances against this man.

_It's a pity that Mikhas wants him dead._ A cold breeze shot into Anne's face as she hurried across an intersection, dodging a stray car which hadn't stopped for the light. _He seems, by far, to be the most interesting mark I've ever had._ But she knew the Bratva bosses didn't choose who to kill based on how interesting they were. And there was a reason Mikhas had sent Anne halfway across the world to murder a madman neither of them had ever met: the Joker was _incredibly_ bad for business. He had effectively rendered the mob useless during his reign over the city last year, as Anne had been told by an agitated Mikhas, and since Gotham was one of the Bratva's main sources of income, he could not be allowed to continue his destructive life. And while Mikhas knew that the Joker was now incarcerated, he didn't trust him to stay that way.

A huge skyscraper came into view as Anne rounded a corner, pulling her from her thoughts. "Wayne Enterprises," she murmured to herself, reading the giant lettering across the building. She was in the Diamond District. Not only was the Wayne company building evidence of that, so too was the sudden change in the people surrounding her. She began to notice much more Gucci and Chanel as she scanned the crowd, snorting in derision as she saw a lean man, decked out in what must've been thousands in luxury clothing, walking a rather stupid looking dog.

_I could kill him,_ she thought, eyeing the haughty man. But no sooner had the idea crossed her mind than the reasonable voice in her head won out. She had a mission to complete, and very limited time; she couldn't get distracted. It also dawned on her that she didn't _really_ have a plan to find Pari. She knew her friend well enough to understand that she wouldn't be using her real name, living instead under an alias, which would only serve to make the search harder. Nor could Anne use any high-tech computer programs to scan a photo of Pari's face for possible leads, as she was rather hopeless when it came to electronics, and Kat was no help in that department either.

Anne scanned the streets for anything that would give her an indication of what to do next. A post office caught her eye. _Maybe Pari had some new tech delivered recently?_ Deciding she might as well start somewhere, she nonchalantly slipped into the alleyway next to the post office, hurrying to the back of the building. She was just about to try the back door when a woman, dressed in a guard's attire, came ambling out of it, cigarette clutched in hand. Anne skirted back around the edge of the wall immediately, waiting until she heard the door close to sneak another look. The woman was young, around mid-thirties, and almost as slim as Anne. She only had to give the uniform a single appraising look to judge that it would fit her.

Wasting no time, Anne strode out of her hiding place, approaching the guard from behind. She was on the woman in a mere second, arm hooked around her throat, choking the life out of her as the cigarette spluttered from her mouth. This method of killing was decidedly messy, but Anne couldn't risk the gun in the Diamond District, it would attract too much attention. As it was, Anne was already paranoid that someone was watching her from a window.

The guard went slack in her grip in no time, her feeble attempts at fighting rendered useless. Immediately, Anne began stripping the body, changing out of her own clothes in the process, and stashing her gun safely behind a dumpster. As soon as she was dressed, she ripped open the back door of the building, happy to find it unlocked. She knew she had to be fast, the guard uniform would only fool the cameras for so long. Soon, someone would realize she was not the same woman who had stepped outside, and then she would be in serious trouble.

As she made her way through the back hallways of the post office, she shoved open door after door, searching for a computer or file cabinet. Thankfully, the only person she encountered along the way was an unkempt man practically racing through the halls. He didn't even spare her a second look. Glancing after him, Anne didn't see the door directly in front of her until she was crashing through it. Startled and rubbing her sore elbow, she regained her balance fairly quickly, scanning the room she had just stumbled into. To her great delight, she found that it held a couple computers alongside several filing cabinets. _Bingo!_

She locked the door behind her and pulled a chair up to one of the monitors. There were no cameras in the room, thank God, but that still didn't eliminate the possibility of someone digitally retracing her steps and finding out what she had been searching their database for. She couldn't risk that, so she resolved herself to destroy the computer when she was done with it, in order to protect her own identity, as well as Pari's, should Anne find her alias here.

The computer had a password, but as hopeless as Anne might've been at complicated hacking jobs, she could easily manage the filing computer of a second-rate post office. She was in the system in no time, scrolling through the certified-mailing digital receipts for the Diamond District. The receipts offered limited information, only the name of the recipient and the company the package had shipped from. But a name would be better than nothing at this point, and it would also confirm to Anne that Pari was indeed living in the Diamond District.

As she scrolled, Anne saw receipts for several packages which had shipped from tech companies, but most of them were either delivered to people with male names, or women with names that Anne was willing to bet her right arm on Pari would never use. _Come on, come on…_ Anne jiggled the mouse impatiently, her gaze flicking from one name to the next, until she finally saw one that caught her eye.

"Madi Kadivar." Her lips formed the name even as her mind lit up with happiness. Anne saw that the package had been shipped from Apple and felt her smile widen. It _had_ to be Pari, the name was exactly something the hacker would come up with as an alias.

"Perfect." Anne grabbed a small slip of paper and a pencil, writing the name down, before slipping it into her back pocket. She didn't have to worry about leaving fingerprints behind; she had never been arrested, therefore neither her prints or DNA would be in any police database. With that thought in mind, she had no qualms either about manhandling the computer she had just used. She quickly logged off before reaching down and yanking the hard drive out. She crushed it underfoot, kicking the remains into a corner, then turned on her heel and exited.

Thankfully, the hallways had remained empty during her time in the filing room, so she was met with no suspicious glares or once-overs as she practically skipped to the back door, slipping from the post office as quietly as she had entered. With any luck, no one would ever realize she had been there and the guard's death would remain a mystery.

_So much for not committing any serious crimes today,_ Anne thought, cursing herself inwardly as she looked down at her latest victim, who looked pathetic stripped of her uniform. But Anne would soon remedy that. She located where she had stashed her own clothes and gun, and changed back into them at lightning speed, lest anyone decide to walk down the alleyway and stumble upon her.

Once she was changed, she pulled the guard uniform back onto the corpse, for no real reason other than she felt like it. She left the woman exactly as she had died, with one small change: she took her phone. Anne had not gotten around to buying one yet, and she figured that a corpse had no more use for one. She wouldn't keep the phone, of course, she knew how easy it was to track them. But, currently, she needed to make a call.

Anne had very few phone numbers memorized, but since Kat was the only person in the city whom she could rely on, she had made it a priority to remember the girl's number. Typing it into the phone, she listened impatiently to the dial tone as she picked her way out of the alley.

"Hello?" Kat's casual-but-polite greeting made Anne crinkle her nose in amusement.

"Hey, Kat."

"Anne? Why are you calling me on a random phone?" Katarina's voice sounded confused for half a moment, even as it grew softer. Doubtless because the absolute _last_ thing the girl would've wanted was her boyfriend finding out about Anne.

"Well I don't exactly own my own cell phone," Anne responded, letting Kat hear her smile. It would do well to charm her friend before asking her the favor, and that meant playing nice.

"So you just fucking stole one?" Kat's voice held a hint of amusement, underneath the blatant exasperation.

"Are ya even surprised?" Rather than correct her, Anne decided it would be better if the girl thought she had only swiped a _living_ person's phone. While her friend was technically aware of what Anne did for a living, the contract killer had a feeling Kat liked to forget about that small detail most of the time, for her own conscience's sake.

Kat's derisive snort was loud in Anne's ear as she said, "No. I swear I can't even leave you alone in the apartment, you're too much of a hazard to Gotham."

Anne thought that was a little rich coming from a woman who was currently with her violent criminal of a boyfriend. "Darling, you're dating a drug lord." At her words, Anne swore several passersby stared at her in open worry.

Kat actually chuckled in response, and Anne was suddenly reminded of the best friend she had left behind two years ago, the one who had laughed at everything. She wondered why Kat hadn't shown that side of herself more since Anne's return. Perhaps she was still wary of Anne, given she didn't really know the woman who had suddenly reappeared after two years spent in Russia, refining the art of being a monster.

"Fair enough." Kat's voice ripped Anne back to the current conversation, and she shook her head as if to clear it before responding.

"Uh huh. _Anyways_ , I called cause I need a tiny favor." Anne's eyes traveled along a row of apartment buildings as she spoke, her mind wandering.

"A favor?" Kat's tone betrayed her disbelief. Whether her disbelief was at the fact that Anne had the balls to ask anything else of Kat, after she was already doing so much for her, or because she couldn't believe that was _truly_ all Anne was calling for, was anyone's guess.

"Yeah. I have a name I need to find an address for, and I figured wherever you were with Rob would have a computer capable of doing that." Anne would've done it herself, but the filing computer at the post office hadn't been hooked up to the internet, and she hadn't wanted to risk going to the trouble of finding another computer in that place, given that the Diamond District was one of the few areas in Gotham where cops actually responded to distress calls quickly. And Anne couldn't risk getting caught, especially not this early on in the game. It would fuck everything up.

"Well, yeah, but…" Kat lowered her voice further, so that she was practically speaking in a strained whisper. "This isn't someone you're gonna kill, is it?"

"Nah," Anne laughed in reply. "I think I've found Pari."

"Oh shit, really? She's that one computer genius, right?"

"Yep, but I need to find her address. Can ya do that for me, sweetheart?" Anne stopped before the skyscraper which served as the headquarters to Wayne Enterprises, leaning casually against a concrete wall as she surveyed the three-pieces coming out of the building. They all had blank looks on their faces, with dull, disinterested eyes; but that didn't surprise her, most people did.

"Probably. What alias is she going under?" Anne heard Kat shuffling around, and she surmised that the girl was going to find a computer where she could work in private.

"Madi Kadivar." The distinct sound of someone typing followed her words.

"Uh… yeah, hold on." Kat mumbled into the phone, a generous amount of background noise still blaring into Anne's ear. "Here, found it. It's 2 East 8th Street, Terrence Apartments."

Anne felt a smile come unbidden to her face, just as a man in a perfectly tailored suit stepped out of the revolving doors of Wayne Enterprises. She recognized him immediately as Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy who owned the building he had just exited. _He'd be a piece of cake to kill._ The thought crossed Anne's mind as Wayne passed her on the sidewalk, barely sparing a glance in her direction. _He looks so oblivious. I could just walk up behind him and…_

"Anne?" Kat's voice ripped her back to the present.

"Yeah, sorry, I was thinking." Anne pushed off of the wall she had been leaning against and began walking in the direction of Pari's supposed address. "Thanks a bunch, darling, I owe ya one."

"You owe me a shit ton, not just one," Kat corrected her immediately.

Anne had to laugh at that, turning down a street as she checked over her shoulder for tails. She understood that it was highly unlikely anyone - minus Kat - knew she was in Gotham, but she could never be too careful. There were plenty of criminal organizations who would pay a pretty penny for the head of the Bratva's prized Roulette. She had earned a reputation while in Russia, which was never a good thing for a contract killer. It shortened their lifespans considerably.

"Fair enough." Anne brushed past a man wearing what appeared to be a thousand-dollar coat as she finally responded to Kat. "I've gotta go though, I'll see ya back at the apartment."

"Bye, be careful."

Anne snorted derisively at that statement as she hung up. Looking down at the phone, she broke it in half, wanting to dispose of it as quickly as possible - she hated having anything on her which held the ability to be tracked. Her gaze found a trash can on the side of the street, and she tossed the broken pieces as she passed it, never breaking stride. _Now, to find Pari._

Anne was close to the address Kat had given her, no more than a five minute walk. She had been right in assuming Pari would've taken to staying in the Diamond District, as the girl had always liked a higher style of living. However, given that it _was_ in fact the Diamond District, Anne would have a difficult time getting into the apartment building. She clearly didn't look like someone who lived in a wealthy apartment, and she couldn't scale the building and enter through a window; there were too many eyes, she would get caught. She supposed she could just walk in after someone, catching the door before it closed. It would be risky, but Anne was used to risk, and if someone questioned her, she would merely lie her way out of it.

Her plan worked better than she could have possibly hoped. Right as she reached the double doors which led to the lobby, a man carrying a large package slipped his keycard into the locking mechanism, before yanking open the heavy door. _How suspicious will this be?_ Anne pondered to herself as she hurried towards the closing door. Ripping the beanie off her head, she made a split second decision, calling out, "Oh, hold the door!"

The man, who looked to be in his forties with a rather pudgy frame, turned back to look at her immediately. Anne had already shoved her beanie into a sweatshirt pocket, and had an innocent smile pasted onto her features.

"Do you live here?" The man's suspicion was evident as he squinted at her, however he held the door for her all the same as she slipped into the lobby, which Anne supposed meant that he didn't fully mistrust her.

"No," she laughed out her response, meeting the stranger's gaze. "I'm just surprising my cousin."

"Your cousin?" He closed the door behind him, fully turning to face Anne. She heard the lock click into place and realized that she couldn't misstep now, she was essentially trapped.

"Yeah, I'm visiting from Colorado for the weekend. But I didn't tell them I was." Anne noticed several passersby glancing curiously in her direction, clearly noting how out-of-place her cheap outfit was in the Diamond District. Suddenly eager to scurry from the lobby as swiftly as possible, she began making her way to the apartment directory, her eyes scouring the plaque for _Madi Kadivar_.

"Wait-" The man began to call after her, but she was already waving her departure, thinking that the sooner she left that stranger's side, the better.

"Thank you for holding the door!" Anne called over her shoulder as she came to stand before the directory, casting a wary look in either direction as she did so. She found Pari's alias in no time, tracing her finger over the black lettering. _Fifth floor, apartment 14C._

She was flying up the stairs in no time, thankful that she had kept in good shape during her duration in Russia. It was not so long ago (four years, to be precise) that a sustained race upstairs would've knocked the wind from her. But nowadays, Anne couldn't afford to be out of shape, it would kill her.

The smell of expensive perfume hit her as she hopped the last step to the fifth floor, her feet colliding with the spongy carpeting most wealthy apartment complexes favored in Gotham. The sickly sweet odor sent Anne's head spinning, and she rubbed her temple with a free hand while she continued walking. She couldn't wait to get to Pari's so she could smoke freely, as out in the hallway she knew she couldn't risk it. A cigarette would only serve to draw more attention to Anne than she was already getting.

Head still throbbing from the smell of whatever noxious chemicals were found in perfume, Anne traipsed down the large hall, gaze swiveling from side to side as she checked the numbers on each door. _8C, 10C, 12C…_

_Yes!_ She came to apartment 14C, and knocked without hesitation. She felt a shadow of happiness within her at the prospect of seeing her friend again after two years. Pari had been essential to Anne's jobs when she still worked in Gotham, hacking into surveillance cameras and databases alike. It was one of the reasons Anne had risen so quickly in the Falcone crime ranks, despite only being 16 at the time; she had a brilliant hacker on her side, something most contract killers didn't have the luxury of using. Pari was a secret she had never revealed to Carmine Falcone, preferring to allow her boss to think she was merely _that_ good. Even back then, she had understood that her reputation needed to be better than any other killer's, as it was the only way she could be taken seriously as a girl in organized crime. Despite this, she had still been ridiculed on the regular; even in the Bratva, she was still thought of as something of a joke. _The worst joke ever told._ But the Bratva had incorporated her after she had already earned a couple years of experience with Falcone, so they had at least respected her ability to kill, and her favor with the bosses.

Footsteps from within the apartment jerked Anne's attention back to the present, and a second later the door was being yanked open. Anne, who had expected to see Pari, was surprised to come face to face with a dark-haired man, no older than 25. He was wearing a look of uncertainty on his face as he scowled down at her.

_That's interesting._ Anne smiled up at him, her brain whirling as she tried to reason out what was happening. "Is Madi Kadivar here?" Her tone was soft as she spoke, attempting to come across as non-threatening. But she could tell the man wasn't fooled, his gaze took in her baggy sweatshirt quickly, before refocusing on her face. His frown deepened.

"No, she doesn't live here anymore." The waver in his voice, combined with the darting eyes, told Anne all she needed to know about the truthfulness of that statement.

She raised her eyebrows slightly, allowing the man to see the confidence in her expression strengthen. He must know she realized he was lying, it was too obvious. "Really?" He nodded once, sharply, in response. "Alright. Then where's _Pari_ living now?"

He blinked slowly, a note of panic beginning to creep into his features. "How do you know her real name?"

"Oh, so ya do know her." Anne checked the ceiling, searching for cameras as she debated forcing her way through the doorway. "Lovely, if you could just go get her for me, that would be wonderful."

"Why do you want to see her?"

"I'm an old friend." Anne knew it sounded cliché, and borderline ridiculous, but at this point she was impatient to leave the hallway, out of the view of any potential cameras. "Who are _you_?" Her voice turned accusatory, not because she truly cared who this man was, but because she assumed her suspicion would throw him off.

She was right; immediately he stepped back, mouth opening as though he wanted to say something, before snapping it shut quickly, presumably thinking better of it. "That's none of your business," he finally landed on.

_Oh my fucking god._ Anne's patience was running thin, however pulling her gun on this man, while extremely tempting, was also incredibly stupid, given that any number of apartment security personnel could be watching her at this very moment. And she was already attracting enough attention as it was.

She opened her mouth to snap back, when a movement behind the man caught her eye, a mere shadow of a figure shifting positions. But it was enough to grab her attention. She stepped forward to push her way inside when a new voice broke through the silence.

" _Anne_?" It was Pari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I should mention Anne is an incredibly unreliable narrator and she sees the world through a very altered lens, so keep that in mind while reading from her perspective. Also, please excuse the shifting formats from Prologue to Chapter 1, I'm a mess and still trying to figure out all the formatting tools on AO3 lmao.
> 
> Up Next: Roulette breaks into Arkham and finally comes face-to-face with the Joker.


	3. Devil's Dominion

****

###  **Devil's Dominion**

" _Heaven help ya, she's coming for you,_

_Heaven help ya, the girl likes to fight,_

_Afraid of nothing and she carries a knife._ "

- **Punchin' Bag** , Cage the Elephant

* * *

"Uh hey, Pari." Anne took the opportunity to slip past the man in the doorway and finally face her friend. Pari was a year older than Anne, with dark curly hair and an olive complexion. Her eyes were large and unassuming, but the rest of her features were plain. "Long time, no see!" Anne shot the girl her brightest smile. Pari seemed less than impressed.

"It's been, what? Two years?" The hacker scratched her temple in disbelief. "I had assumed you were long dead. I always warned you that influence with Falcone's people would lead you down a bad path, but you never did listen to me."

" _What?_ She works for that psycho?" The man looked bewildered as he spoke. "I thought you didn't do jobs for the mob anymore." He slammed the door and pushed past Anne, coming to stand before Pari.

"Uh, I do not work for _that psycho_." But no one was listening to Anne just then.

"I don't, George, I haven't laid eyes on this girl in two years." Pari's gaze flicked over Anne hesitantly, as though assessing something. "Besides, I don't think she's employed with Falcone anymore."

"Yeah, I found better bosses. They pay way more…" Anne trailed off as George continued to glare at her with hostile eyes. "Can I help ya, sweetheart?"

Pari stepped in at that, rightly seeming to assume that the assassin's tone spelled trouble. "Anne, this is George, my boyfriend. I met him last year; he has no idea who you are." The hacker's tone was conciliatory, but Anne could sense a defensiveness beneath the voice. _Women are always so fucking stupid when it comes to their boyfriends._ It appeared, sadly, as though Pari was no different.

However, Anne was nothing if not manipulative, so she pasted a huge grin onto her face, thinking it would be more advantageous for her if she played nice with Pari's new boytoy. "Nice to meetcha, honey. You ain't a snitch, are ya?" She held her hand out for the man to shake.

Ignoring the handshake offer, George shook his head, mouth still open as he eyed Anne, giving her several once-overs. Undoubtedly he was deciding how much of a threat she posed to him. "You don't look like a mobster."

Anne fought hard to keep her eyes from rolling. Instead, she reached inside her sweatshirt, pulling her Glock out of its holster and watching as George's gaze widened considerably. "I'm not, I just happen to work for the mob, but I don't like that term." She turned the gun around in her hand, pretending to show George all sides of the polished metal. "It sounds too unprofessional."

Anne swore she heard the man swallow audibly, but she couldn't be sure. "Yes," Pari interceded once more. "I met Anne soon after I began my career. Farha introduced us. And I, um," the hacker hesitated, and Anne could sense she didn't want to tell George the next part, "I helped with some of her jobs."

Anne winked in thanks as she stored her Glock away, watching as George's face turned from fear to shock once more. "You helped this-" He broke off at that and Anne waited patiently, arms crossed, for the sentence to finish, " _girl_?"

Pari gave a resigned nod at that, "I'm not proud, but she was a good friend of mine." The hacker cast a glance down at her feet. "And she provided protection from Falcone, at the time."

Anne felt as though she should be vaguely piqued that Pari wasn't proud of helping her, but she suppressed that for now, thinking the job at hand was much more important. "And I'm very grateful you helped me." Her eyes glanced over George once more, given the clearly stiff shoulders and clenched jaw, Anne surmised he would not warm to her anytime soon. She didn't mind, few people ever warmed to her. "But I need to talk to ya privately, Pari. That's why I'm here."

Pari's features became apprehensive, and she bit her lip before nodding. "Okay, we can speak in my tech room." The hacker motioned Anne further into the apartment, casting an apologetic glance at George, who looked nothing short of horrified. Anne assumed her presence would lead to an argument between the two later.

"See ya, George," She waved her fingers at Pari's boyfriend, throwing him her most charming smile. He was thoroughly unimpressed, recoiling away from her as she passed close on the heels of Pari.

The hacker led Anne through a pristinely kept living room. Several expensive-looking gadgets were laid out on tables, in various states of disassembly. Anne did not fail to note the open Apple box next to the couch, and smirked to herself. Then, Pari veered right, into a long hallway. She walked all the way to the end before entering the last door on the left. Anne followed suit, only checking over her shoulder once to make sure George had not come after them.

"This is my setup now," Pari waved her arm to indicate the expanse of the room, which was filled to the brim with glinting monitors and computers. "It's changed a lot these past years."

Anne closed the door behind her, grinning at Pari. "I see that." She wandered over to one of the screens, which was playing a black and white video. Anne recognized it immediately as footage of the lobby. "Ya saw me coming." She pointed to a corner of the screen, where there was a camera aimed straight at the apartment directory.

"I saw _someone_ coming," Pari corrected. "I had no idea it was you. I never expected you to turn up here in a million years." The girl pulled up two plush desk chairs, offering one to Anne while taking the other for herself. "Why _are_ you here, Anne?" She thought for a beat before adding, "And how did you find me? I use an alias."

"Well, _Madi_ ," Anne began as she took up a seat, "your alias wasn't hard to figure out." She grinned at Pari, who tilted her head in concession. "And from there, it was easy to find your address." Her gaze swept the room, taking in the glittering screens and tumbling, black wires. "But as to your first question, I think I should tell you, first off, that now I work for someone other than Falcone. But I can't tell ya who."

Pari modded thoughtfully, "Someone in Europe, I'm assuming?" The assassin remained silent, her face deadpan. "Okay, I understand, it's confidential. But how do I come into the mix?"

Anne cleared her throat before responding. "I've been contracted to kill someone who is currently incarcerated in Gotham…" She brought her eyes up to look pleadingly into Pari's. "I need your help breaking into where they're being kept."

The hacker's gaze widened, and her lips parted as she appeared to do some quick thinking. "Arkham or Blackgate?"

"Arkham."

"Oh," Pari tapped her finger against the desk as her voice caught in hesitation."You're going after one of the crazies?"

Anne nodded. "Uh huh, one of my own." She grinned as she spoke, feeling the skin bunch around her eyes as she tried her hardest to come across as sincere.

Pari, however, merely shrugged in response, "You're not insane, Anne. Based on my limited psychiatric knowledge, I would say you're somewhere on the ASPD spectrum… but you definitely weren't born that way."

 _Oooh she's got some balls, saying that to my face._ "Gotcha, sweetheart. I see you've become a fucking shrink since I last saw ya." Her smile widened, even as her eyes were leached of all their manufactured warmth. Fear blossomed across Pari's expression at that, and she immediately backtracked.

"No, no, I was just saying… you're not insane, that's all." The girl turned her chair to face the many computer monitors, clicking a key to turn another one on. "So you need help breaking into Arkham?" She seemed eager to change the subject, and Anne was happy to oblige.

"Yeah, if ya can do that." Reaching into her pocket, she produced a pack of Marlboro Reds, taking one for herself before offering them to Pari. The hacker merely scrunched her nose in disgust, shaking her head. Anne shrugged off the brusque refusal and instead popped her own between naked lips, finding a lighter within her sweatshirt and igniting the cigarette. The first inhale sent a pulse of instant relaxation throughout her entire body. She _loved_ it. "Pari?" She prompted, speaking around the cigarette.

"Sorry, yes, I can do that." The girl was busy typing away on a keyboard. "But who is your target? I want to know before I help you murder them." Suddenly, her fingers stopped moving, and the hacker turned to stare at Anne. "I'm only agreeing to this because you're going after a criminal, someone as equally morally corrupt as you. Otherwise, I wouldn't." Pari swallowed with great difficulty. "I don't agree with the slaughter of innocents… not anymore."

 _God, shut the fuck up._ "I never went after civilians," Anne stipulated, smoke trailing from her mouth. Pari shot her a look at that, somewhere between incredulous and hostile. "Okay, okay, I was never _paid_ to kill 'em."

Pari turned away somewhat sharply, returning her focus to the computer. There was a moment of silence, then, "So who is it? Who are you going to kill?" The girl's features tensed as she waited for a response. Anne had to smile. She had spent so much time with cold-hearted bastards she had almost forgotten how normal people reacted to the concept of death.

Taking the cigarette out of her mouth, she tapped the excess ash off onto the desk beside her, allowing the silence to stretch. After a moment of this, she finally met the hacker's gaze, hoping her excitement wasn't too evident. "The Joker." Pari's reaction was much as she had expected. Similar to Kat's, although far less dramatic.

"Are you serious?" Her face had become slack with disbelief.

"Nah, I'm joking." Anne's chuckle betrayed her jest, but Pari appeared to be in no mood to cater to the contract killer's terrible sense of humor.

"He _will_ kill you. I-" Pari broke off and looked to the ground, as though carefully choosing her next words. "You're good at what you do. But you are _not_ that good. I lived through the Joker's reign of terror last summer, it wasn't pretty." The girl bit her lip, seeming to sense how little her words meant to Anne. "I mean, I don't know what you did or who you killed while you were in Europe, but I know you've never before encountered anything like this psychopath. You have no idea what it was like living in Gotham while he was at large, it was terrifying. He's insane, but he's a genius. No one stands a chance against him. Not even you. However good you think you've become at killing, it won't be enough."

Anne, who had been smoking nonchalantly throughout the entirety of the speech, finally saw this as her cue to respond and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I know what he did, trust me, I research my marks. Especially this one." She straightened up, taking a drag of her cigarette before adding, "I'm going through with the hit. I have a perfect record, I'm not gonna let a clown fuck it up." _Also I think he'll be a helluva time._ She felt as though this part of her motivation was better left unsaid, however. "He's in a cell in Arkham, for fuck's sake, I couldn't ask for an easier place to do the job. Think about it."

The hacker nodded slowly, still looking unconvinced. "I understand that. I just want you to know what kind of man you're attempting to assassinate." Pari sighed, running a hand through her curls. "I'll still help you, obviously, because I think you're going to need all the help you can get… And that monster deserves death."

"Thanks, honey." Anne tried to hide the glint of humor in her eyes, even as Pari's gaze diverted from the assassin's face, flicking instead to the hand which was holding the cigarette. A knowing gleam appeared in the girl's features.

"You're contracted with the Russians." That statement sent a jolt of shock through Anne, and she had to fight hard to keep her posture relaxed. _How the fuck did Pari figure that out?_

"Why do ya think that?" Anne's voice was casual, but her hand had already begun itching for the Glock.

Pari merely pointed to the assassin's fingers in response, specifically to the two holding her cigarette. Anne understood immediately and inwardly cursed herself. "Oh, my tattoo?" She brought her hand down, angling the side of her middle finger towards Pari, to better show her the 'ОМУТ' she had tattooed on it.

"Yes, those are Cyrillic letters." Pari's fingertip gently touched the black ink as she leaned in closer. "And the Russian mob is known for tattooing their members. So it was relatively easy to put two and two together." She sat back, scrunching her brow at Anne. "What does it stand for?"

Anne ran a finger over the ink herself, glad that Pari could not see all the other tattoos she had sprawled across her body. "Oт меня уйти трудно." Her voice slipped easily back into its Russian accent, reminding her of all the language lessons she had taken with Alexei during her training. "It's given to the best hitmen."

Pari nodded thoughtfully, "What does it mean in English?"

A smirk came unbidden to Anne's face, "It essentially means once I've decided to kill ya, you're as good as dead. But the literal translation is: ' _It's hard to get away from me._ '" She brought her cigarette back up to her mouth, inhaling the smoke deeply. The taste was stale, coating her tongue. "I got it right before I left for Gotham."

"So you really are that good?"

"Uh, _yeah_."

"Do you have any stars on you?" Pari's eyes blazed with curiosity as she ignored Anne's blatant arrogance. The girl scanned the contact killer's figure, as though her gaze could pierce through clothes. _How does she know so much about Bratva tattoos?_ Anne surveyed the hacker, thinking, before nodding once.

"Yeah, one. On my shoulder." She tapped her right shoulder with a finger. "I got it last year, for taking out two Serbian politicians. That shit elevated my position a _lot_." She snorted in amusement, remembering Alexei's look of surprise once she had informed him that both hits had been completed. He hadn't believed she could do it.

Pari's eyes flicked to her monitors, hand tapping the desk, clearly feeling awkward in Anne's presence. "What branch of the Bratva were you in?"

The assassin's smile widened as she decided it was time to be done here. "Sorry, darling, can't tell ya that. You already know more than I wanted." Anne stood, looking around for somewhere to put her cigarette out, before deciding her flesh would have to suffice. Raising her left hand, she stuck the bud into the meat of her palm, clenching her jaw slightly as the skin burned. "Can you write your phone number down for me?" She asked, walking over to a trashcan to toss the cigarette remains. The hacker complied immediately, handing over a yellow sticky note.

"Thanks again, Pari." Anne tucked the phone number away as she grinned down at her friend. "I'll be in touch within the week." Turning on her heel, she headed towards the doorway, hand on the knob before she remembered the last thing she needed to say. "Oh," she glanced over her shoulder, "if you tell your boyfriend anything about me or this job, I'll kill him. Sorry, it's not personal." She shot the girl a small smile, although it did no good; Pari looked entirely offended by her warning. "See ya." And with that Anne was gone, pulling her beanie back on as she headed out the front door of the apartment.

"Lovely meeting ya, George!" She called happily as she shut the door behind her, thinking that, at this rate, she would be back in Russia in no time.

* * *

The moon gleamed above Gotham, standing alone in the velvet night, all the stars obscured by the light which poured from the city. Anne sat, crisscross, in the silver rays, watching the gates of Arkham from her vantage point on the roof of an abandoned office building. Two weeks had passed since she had first found Pari, and in that time Alexei had made good on his promise to smuggle the rest of Anne's equipment to Gotham. After that, she had met with Pari once more, in order to collect an earcom the girl had designed so the two could be in constant contact while the hit took place. Now, all that was left was to finish the job so she could return to Russia.

"You really should watch the gates from inside the building." Pari's voice blared into Anne's ear, followed by a hint of static. "You could be spotted on the roof."

"So?" Anne took the binoculars she was using away from her face, setting them aside as she started shoving clips into the empty magazines she had brought. "I prefer the fresh air, anyway."

"What will you do if you're spotted?" Pari demanded, becoming uncharacteristically short. Anne surmised she was still pissed over her remark about killing George.

"Nothing." Anne jammed a full magazine into her AK-47, pushing the safety lever as she did so. "Even if I was spotted, no one's gonna do anything about it. This is the Narrows, honey, people mind their own business here."

There was a beat of silence, then, "I think there may be a fine line between 'minding your business' and reporting a suspicious figure running around with an AR-15."

Anne snorted derisively at that, attaching a strap to her gun before throwing it across her back. "You're right." Standing up, she stretched, cracking her neck and back contentedly. "But I'll be fine then. I'm not running around with an AR-15." She grinned into the earpiece. "I'm running around with an AK-47."

Anne swore she heard an audible sigh at that remark, but Pari apparently deemed it not worth responding to. Instead she said, "I can see the last two doctors leaving." The girl had hacked into Arkham's surveillance system, giving her access to every security camera on the premises. She could see everything within the asylum. "The only staff members left within Arkham now are the nurses on the night shift." Pari paused. "And two officers."

Anne nodded to the empty air, watching two cars pull out of the Arkham gate, onto the streets of the Narrows. "How many nurses on the night shift?"

"I can only see three on the cameras, and then the two policemen, one of which is manning the gate." Pari responded, the sound of typing following her words. "You'll have to make sure you're not seen by them." _Nah, I'm gonna fucking kill them._

Anne gathered up her remaining supplies, placing her favorite Glock into its shoulder holster and clipping a magazine belt around her waist. The three knives she had decided to bring were already hidden on her person, so she only needed to worry about disguising herself now. To make sure that no one would remember her features (especially the Joker, should this hit fail), she fit a black ski mask over her face and ponytail. Then, so as not to leave any fingerprints, she yanked a pair of climbing gloves on. Including these precautions, she had worn flexible boots, cargo pants, and a fitted long-sleeve shirt for the occasion. Nothing restrictive. She would need to be able to move quickly through the asylum.

"Alright I'm heading down now," Anne muttered into the earcom, eyeing the decaying building situated next to her. Backing up a few steps, Anne checked over her shoulder before breaking into a dead sprint.

"Are you using the stairs?" Pari questioned as Anne jumped off the side of the roof. Her hands met the windowsill of the apartment building she had been aiming for. She grunted slightly as her legs connected with the crumbling brick. Panting, she looked down, scanning for another windowsill to drop onto. She found one directly underneath and let her handhold go, falling for a second before catching herself once more. She did this three more times before she judged that she could stick the landing if she jumped to the ground. Letting herself drop to the alleyway, she immediately checked for anything suspicious before proceeding to the road.

"Anne?" Pari's voice sounded concerned.

"No, I didn't use the stairs." She replied, still breathing hard. "I climbed down. It's faster." She made her way to the mouth of the alley, looking out into the streets of the Narrows.

"While you're technically correct, it's also a lot more dangerous," The hacker countered, sounding slightly exasperated.

"I hope ya realize the irony in that statement, darling." Anne murmured, cautiously walking onto the rotting sidewalk. The streets around her seemed abandoned for the most part, although it was hard to definitively tell, given that the only working lights were the ones directly in front of Arkham's gate. Directing her gaze to the asylum, she took a moment to assess the massive chain link fence topped with coils of barbed wire and the towering brick buildings which housed the most fucked up minds in Gotham. A strange energy hummed underneath Anne's skin. " _You will fit in because you couldn't pass a psychiatric test if your life depended on it."_ The words of Alexei echoed in her brain as she walked hesitantly closer to Arkham, shrouding herself in the shadows. _Do I belong in there?_ Pari seemed to think that she wasn't crazy, merely apathetic, whereas both Alexei and Kat had called her insane on multiple occasions. _Kat and Alexei know me better, but Pari is the genius._ Anne, for all her grandiose talk about being sick in the head, didn't truly believe there was anything wrong with her. She didn't hallucinate when she was sober, and she understood what she was doing was considered wrong by the majority of the population. She had no delusions on that front. She may have been fucked up in other ways, the addictions and self-inflicted scars attested to that, but she certainly wasn't insane.

"I do," Pari replied simply, bringing Anne back to the present. "Are you close to the gate?" Anne stopped underneath the overhang of what appeared to have once been a cheap restaurant, sticking close to the crumbling wall of the building so that both the guard and the cameras pointed towards the street couldn't make her out.

"Uh huh." She squatted down as she spoke, angling her head upwards as she tried to get a good look at the guard manning Arkham's gate. He was situated in one of three watchtowers around the asylum, two of which had been abandoned for the night. Anne had researched the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum extensively enough to know that funding had been tight recently, causing the establishment to lay off many of its employees. It was due to this chronic understaffing that she had chosen to complete the job now, as it meant easier access. "How are ya going to get me through the front gate, Pari? The guard's gonna see me."

"Well, the cameras won't. I'm repeating the same five seconds of footage on all four of them at the gate. There won't be any record of you on the security videos." Pari's frantic typing followed her voice once more, and Anne had to smile, knowing that the hacker was purposely ignoring her point about the guard.

"That's great, but what about the man in the watchtower? He'll shoot me on sight." Her breath fogged into the night and she realized how chronically underdressed she was for the chilly spring weather. "Gotham cops are _not_ known for their restraint."

"Can you not sneak past him?" A tremor had begun to take hold of Pari's voice. "Go around to the side of the asylum and climb the fence?"

Anne blinked at that suggestion, wondering if Pari had just heard herself speak. "Ya want me to climb over barbed wire? I can't do that, sweetheart. I can't jump it either, there aren't any buildings close enough on this side of the fence." There was a long pause following that, and Anne took the opportunity to move closer to Arkham. She pulled her AK-47 off her back, bringing the scope up to her eye so she could get a clearer view of the guard. _I could easily take him out from this distance,_ she thought. _He's too exposed, one hit to the face and he'll be gone._

"Are you going to shoot him?" Pari's voice broke through the earcom, sounding strangely resigned.

"If I do, can you open the front gate and kill the street lights?" Anne pressed, taking the safety off her rifle.

Typing followed her question. "Yes. But the delay time will be about 5 seconds, if you want to be discreet about this, you should get through those gates no more than 10 seconds after I open them." A cold wind blew across the darkened street, sending chills down Anne's back. "We don't want to drag this out."

Her gaze raked the distance between the gate and where she was currently squatting, assessing the time it would take her to sprint the length of it. "Yeah, I can be at the gate in less than 10." Standing up, Anne raised the AK, bracing it against her right shoulder.

"Good."

She allowed the hacker a moment of silence before prompting, "Ready?" A soft inhale came from the earcom, veiled slightly by static. "On my count, take care of the gate and street lights."

Pari let the silence stretch before finally responding, "Ok, I'm ready." She sounded as though she would rather be doing anything else.

Anne hoisted the rifle, bringing it even with her face once more. Squinting into the scope, she found the guard's head, steadying her stance. "One, two, three…" The guard turned, his eyes seeming to stare straight down the barrel of the gun. "Go." She pulled the trigger, gritting her teeth against the recoil. Half a second later, the man was flying backwards, his brains blown out and splattered against the interior of the watchtower. _Perfect._ Despite the fact that the AK had a suppressor built in, the noise was still loud enough to cause Anne's ears to ring incessantly. Cursing the noise, she lowered her rifle as the world went dark around her. Pari had gotten to the lights.

Flipping the safety back on, Anne took off at a sprint towards Arkham, her eyes slowly adjusting to the new darkness. She made it to the gate just as it slowly creaked open. Slipping through, she ran across the pavement to the second gate, which Pari had evidently opened for her too. She made it through that one as well, rushing to a dumpster which caught her eye and crouching behind it, taking a moment to catch her breath. Looking back, she watched both the gates silently close, just as the streetlights flared back to life. To any onlookers, it would merely look as though the electricity had gone out for a second, no rare occurrence in the rundown Narrows. As for the gunshot, which had most likely been heard by at _least_ one person, Anne wasn't worried. In this part of the city, gunshots were a constant background noise, more likely to lull the populace to sleep than cause alarm.

"Thanks," she breathed, panting as she leaned her head back against the scratched plastic of the dumpster.

"Don't mention it." The hacker's voice sounded vaguely hollow. Anne knew Pari was still grappling with the fact that an innocent man had just been shot. "Now, you need to get out from behind the dumpster and go to door 30D. That's the one we agreed upon."

"Yeah," Anne murmured into the night air, standing up slowly, "but how'd ya know I was behind a dumpster?" She swore she heard a small chuckle at that.

"I installed a tracking device into your earcom. Even if you turn it off, I'll still be able to see where you are." There was a rather awkward pause as Pari cleared her throat. "It's a safety precaution."

"Uh huh," Anne snorted derisively, feeling a prickle of irritation. Then, inhaling sharply, she straightened back up, pulling her Glock out and surveying the area with a wary eye. "You got all the cameras, right? No one's gonna be able to see me?"

"I have them all, don't worry." Pari's voice sounded on the verge of being annoyed, doubtless because Anne had the gall to question her abilities. "You are invisible."

"Perfect," she responded, half to herself. She began jogging across Arkham's courtyard, making her way over to the back of the main building, her eyes raking the doors as she moved. She found 30D in no time, hesitating only briefly when she saw the surveillance camera positioned right above it.

"Go on." Pari must've been watching her from it. "The door was locked electronically so I was able to override it."

Nodding into the camera, Anne hoisted her gun upwards and eased the door open as quietly as she could. It didn't creak, much to her relief, and no obvious alarms were triggered by her entering. _Thank fucking God._ Steadying her breath, Anne cast her gaze around the darkened supply room she was in, ears pricked for any unusual noise.

"The remaining officer is headed your way." Pari's voice exploded into her ear, Anne wincing at the harsh static noise. "Don't say anything out loud, just listen to what I tell you."

Clenching her jaw at that order, Anne stored her Glock away, knowing if she shot the officer it would only bring the nightshift nurses running, and she couldn't be sure she would have time to eliminate them all before one could get to a phone. She thought for a beat, then settled on the largest knife she had brought, unsheathing it from where it sat on her thigh. It was the only non-OTF she had with her, making it a bit clunky, but the size was necessary for what she was about to do.

"He's about to be outside the supply room…." Pari trailed off, her fingers typing away furiously. "Now!"

Anne shot out into the illuminated hallway, gaze finding the guard in no time. He had been talking into his radio, asking after another officer who was not replying. Anne had a feeling she knew exactly who that officer was.

As she moved closer, the man turned, doubtless alerted that someone had just snuck up behind him. When he saw her his jaw dropped, and she heard him take in a rattling breath, probably in preparation to yell for the nurses. Anne was on him first, however, whipping him in the head with the hilt of her knife. He crumpled to the ground, the noise much louder than Anne had been anticipating. _Fuck,_ she thought, casting a worried glance around before leaning down and slicing the man's throat open, leaving him to bleed out.

"Was that necessary?" Pari asked stiffly.

"No witnesses," Anne countered, her voice barely audible. _Well,_ her eyes lifted to the ceiling, where she could hear shuffling on the floor above. _No sane witnesses, anyway._

"For the record, I do _not_ like this." The girl huffed out. Anne ignored that, instead using the corpse's uniform to wipe the blood off her knife before sheathing it once more. Then, she slid her AK-47 off her back, feeling safer with the weight of the rifle in her hands.

"Where are the nurses, honey?" Anne's head swiveled from side to side as she stalked down the hallway, feeling wildly exposed in the bright, fluorescent light. The sooner she took out the nurses, the sooner she would feel safe. Well, _safer_.

"Go up one floor," Pari instructed, her sullen demeanor returned full-force. "From what I can see, they're all in the break room."

"How many did ya say there were?" Anne asked as she slid up the nearest set of stairs as quietly as she could manage. "Three?"

"Yes, three." She confirmed. "All women, and I doubt any of them are armed."

Anne snorted at that, realizing Pari was attempting to make her feel guilty about the fact that she was going to murder them. It didn't work; Anne was long past the point of feeling guilt for her actions.

She made it to the second floor in no time, immediately hearing voices coming from down the hallway. Looking around, she saw shadows moving within a large room situated to her left. _Must be the break room,_ she decided. Without a moment's hesitation, she strode across the hall, taking the safety off her AK and pushing her way into the room. She watched with glee as the three nurses within turned to face her, fear blossoming across their faces as they laid eyes on her rifle.

One of them immediately whipped around to grab at a cellphone on the counter, but Anne shot her in the head before she could touch it. Another dove for a large red button on the wall, most likely to raise the alarm and alert the cops. But Anne was quicker. She side-stepped, blocking the woman's way and kicking her in the abdomen. The nurse grunted in pain, flying backwards and taking a chair down with her. Anne wasted no time putting a bullet in her eye. Then, there was only one left.

She had hidden under a table at Anne's entrance, and had made no move to grab a phone or set of any alarms. _Smart girl,_ she thought, flipping the table over and leveling the AK's barrel at the woman's face.

"Please," the nurse sobbed, "I have a family. Please. What do you want?"

The corner of Anne's mouth tugged upwards at the girl's pleas. It amazed her how many people cried about having a family right before she killed them. It was as though they thought if they humanized themselves to Anne, she would spare them. It always had the opposite effect.

Putting a bullet in the woman's mouth to shut her up, Anne set her AK-47 aside. She had chosen it to kill the nurses because of it's built-in suppressor, which made the noise less deafening than her Glock. However, she knew it would be far too bulky to maneuver around a cell with, so she resolved to leave it behind for the time being while she completed the hit she had been contracted for.

Turning around, Anne stopped by a mirror she noticed in the corner of the break room and checked her reflection, dabbing at her rather smudged red lips with a finger. Clucking in disapproval, she pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket and quickly added another layer, navigating her way around the ski mask covering much of her face. Her eyeliner had feathered out as well, but she would have to leave it, as she had not thought to bring that with her. _It almost makes me look like the Joker,_ she thought, cocking her head and squinting at the black-smeared eyes and vibrant lips staring back at her. A smile split her face as she heard Pari's voice crackle to life in her ear. "Is now _really_ the time for vanity?"

Anne chuckled. "This isn't vanity," she corrected, smacking her lips together and turning away from her reflection, "this is showmanship." She looked up at the camera she knew Pari was watching her from and winked cheekily, hoping the action read as charming rather than insolent.

"If you say so," the hacker mumbled. "Can you please go kill the Joker now?"

"Sure." Anne grabbed a keycard off one of the nurses before wandering back into the halls of Arkham, storing her lipstick safely away. "Where's his cell?"

"Head up one floor - use the stairs to your right," Pari instructed, "then you're gonna come to a hallway, head left from there. His cell should be the last one in that wing. It's in the maximum security block of the asylum."

"Isn't all of Arkham maximum security?" Anne retorted, following the hacker's instructions and heading up the stairway, a strange tingling beginning to start in her feet.

"Yes, but this particular block of cells is where they keep the worst of the worst, so to speak." Pari elaborated, and Anne heard her distinct typing follow. "I'm pretty sure that the old asylum director, Dr. Crane, is kept in this wing too."

 _Dr. Crane?_ Anne had heard the name before, but didn't know much about the man himself, other than the fact that he was a genius who had effectively been driven insane by a gas of his own creation. _I guess it's fitting, in a sick sense, to be destroyed by the things you create._ She reached the landing of the stairs and immediately heard a banging coming from above, in what she guessed was the maximum security wing. "My gunshots must've woken them up," she muttered, half to herself, startling slightly when she heard Pari making a noise of agreement.

Slowly, her hands tightly gripping the Glock, she mounted the rest of the stairs, coming up to a long row of cells. _This shit is straight out of a horror movie_. Every cell lining the hall had a small window of bulletproof glass, which allowed the shadowy tenants within to stare out at Anne as she crested the last step. Several of the cell doors rattled immediately upon her appearance, the metal bolts holding fast, much to Anne's relief.

"He's just at the end of the hall, Anne." Pari's voice hitched with what Anne suspected was anticipation of the death. _Strange._ Ever since the contract killer had enlisted the help of Pari to kill the Joker, the hacker had seemed almost excited to see the hit carried out, which was incredibly uncharacteristic of the girl. _Why does Pari want the Joker dead so much?_

"I gotta get past these assholes first," Anne responded, glaring at the rows of cells before her. Pari laughed softly at that, perhaps sensing the irony. "If any of the crazies get loose, I shoot 'em, deal?"

"You can shoot as many of these people as you want," Pari's tone was noticeably cold. "They're not innocent like the guards and nurses were, these are murderers and rapists." The hacker's voice had turned to steel. "They deserve to die."

Not failing to note that Pari had just grouped her with people she believed 'deserved to die', Anne shook her head and declined to respond, instead beginning the trek down the hall. The first few cells she passed didn't have anyone at the windows, and she guessed the prisoners within must've been still sleeping or merely disinterested. However, as she advanced, she began to see more hulking figures staring out at her. She didn't exactly mind, she had seen a thousand men just like this in her lifetime, only those hadn't been behind bars and bulletproof glass; their gazes were more irritating than anything else, as she knew that the longer people watched her, the more information they would have to tell the police when they eventually came in the morning. That was dangerous; she never liked having witnesses to her hits.

A sudden tapping noise to her left grabbed her attention, and she turned, lifting her gun slightly as she stared right into the face of a rather attractive man. He had a chiseled face, sunken eyes, and a crop of messy black hair. "That's Dr. Crane," Pari's whisper echoed strangely in her ear, and Anne felt a shiver crawl up her spine. The man himself didn't look threatening, he looked to be barely an inch taller than Anne, and scrawny on top of that; however, his eyes seemed to pierce straight through her, staring unblinkingly ahead from their deep sockets.

He smirked at her, his features contorting into an unbearably smug look, as he tilted his chin back, evidently analyzing her. Anne glared back at him, glad that the ski mask obscured most of her face. Fighting the urge to flip Dr. Crane off, she turned away from the soulless gaze, instead continuing her walk towards the end of the hall. Her eyes found the metal door situated in the very back, the last cell on the block. _That has to be it,_ she thought, noticing the cell's lack of window.

She walked directly up to it, feeling her heart begin to pound faster. This was the _Joker_ she was about to come face to face with, Gotham's most notorious domestic terrorist. He was supposed to be a genius without peer. _The Clown Prince of Crime._ It took Anne a moment to realize that what she was feeling wasn't fear, but rather excitement. She had met so many criminals in her life, so many killers and terrorists and con men and mobsters, that she was no longer interested in any of them, all their atrocities seemed to blur together. The shock value that people like Alexei had once held for her had long faded. But the Joker was different, the more and more she had researched him in Russia, the more interested she had become. From what she could tell, he seemed to have a cause he truly believed in: bringing the world to chaos and anarchy. That alone would've been enough to endear him to Anne, however, it was not only the Joker's cause which had captured her attention; the costume and entire demeanor were incredibly enigmatic as well, an unapologetic dramatic flair which she could sympathize with. The clown was, overall, a man unlike any Anne had encountered before.

Of course, Anne was still resolved to kill him, as nothing would prevent her from doing her job and maintaining a perfect record. There was the issue of money too. Mikhas had offered her an incredible sum for the Joker's head and she wasn't about to walk away from that. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't talk to him before she inevitably put a bullet in his brain. She could allow herself that much, at least.

Lifting a hand past the large '11' painted on the door, Anne reached up to the eyeslot positioned a few inches above her head, taking a hold of it's handle. Inhaling softly, she hoisted her Glock upwards, aiming it at the slot before ripping the cover off.

Two predatory, black eyes blinked at her from the small opening. Slowly, the Joker smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I also just wanted to say that (prolly obviously) Anne has some wild opinions that I do not agree with, she also has a lot of internalized misogyny from her years spent in the mob, which I think it's important to point out and be aware of. Just wanted to note that at the end of this chapter.
> 
> Up Next: The Joker and Anne have a little heart-to-heart...


	4. Gods and Monsters

****

###  **Gods and Monsters**

" _I care for no one but the offspring of your mind._

_Run from the one who comes to find you,_

_Wait for the night that comes to hide you._

_Your eyes black like an animal,_

_Black like an animal. Crossing the water,_

_Lead them to die."_

- **Feral Love** , Chelsea Wolfe

* * *

Anne felt a jolt shoot through her body as she stared up into the Joker's gaze, lips parting as a thousand thoughts danced across her brain. _Put a bullet through his eye now, just finish the job,_ one voice snarled at her. However another was saying, _No, you can't waste an opportunity like this. Talk to him._

"You have to kill him _immediately_ , Anne-" Pari began, before the contract killer reached up and turned the earcom off, silencing the hacker's hurried speech. She couldn't afford to be distracted at the moment, not when she was about to complete the hit, she needed every ounce of concentration she had. And yet…. Anne found that she was unable to pull the trigger as she stood there, head cocked, fascinated by the look of the Joker without makeup. Granted, she could only see less than half his face, but it was enough.

"Hello there." The Joker's voice sounded exactly like Anne remembered from the various GCN tapes, starkly alternating between high and low pitches, dripping with sarcasm and amusement. The cell door muffled him slightly, but she could still hear the menace exuding from his words, almost inhuman in quality. _He can't be real,_ she thought, _he has to be some kind of monstrous god. No human sounds like that._

Feeling a grin tug at her lips, she raised a hand and waved her fingers at him, deciding it was better if she didn't speak just yet, as she was unsure whether it was safe enough to use her normal voice or if it would be better to put on an accent. Then, she motioned with the Glock for him to back up, reaching inside her pocket to grab the keycard she had stolen off one of the slaughtered nurses.

Surprisingly, the Joker complied, and his face disappeared from the eyeslot just as Anne slipped the keycard into the lock, hearing a beep and testing the door handle. It gave way. Wasting no time, she kicked the cell door open, not wanting to enter the room timidly as there was a good chance that the Joker was going to try and overpower her once she was in the cell with him. _You're being fucking stupid,_ a voice in her head ranted, _you should've shot him through the door when you had the chance._

Storing the keycard away, she gripped her gun with both hands and entered the cell, turning on her heel just as she saw the Joker rush at her. It was clear he was anticipating that she would be easy to overpower, as he went for the gun first, rather than throwing her to the ground, as he should've done. _He's going to regret that._ The Joker may have been the most dangerous man in the city, but he had been locked away in Arkham for almost a year and it was clear he had lost a good deal of muscle and weight in that time. Anne, meanwhile, had kept up her workout routine for five straight years, and was therefore in decent shape. Of course, the Joker most likely still weighed more than her, but it didn't matter, she doubted whether he had ever been properly trained for combat. She had. Given the Joker's weakened state, she liked her odds.

As he reached for the gun, Anne dove to the side, flinging the door closed behind her as she jumped up, kicked off the wall and spun, her foot connecting solidly with the Joker's chest. That backed him up several steps, tottering as he struggled to stay on his feet. Anne landed lightly and hoisted her gun back up, huffing in annoyance as she trained the muzzle on his laughing figure.

"Oooh," he was cackling, bent over and clutching his sides, "this kitty's got _claws_." Anne's lip hitched into a snarl as she stared at him, still somewhat startled at how different the man looked without his face paint. None of the photos or videos had shown the Joker bare-faced. It was clear, much to her astonishment, that he had once been an incredibly handsome man. He still was, in an odd sort of way, with the bone structure and features of a model. Only the scars and malicious eyes gave away his true nature. Even his hair had lost most of its green dye during his captivity, revealing it's true muddy brown-blonde coloration. Like this, it was almost hard to imagine him as the psychopathic clown which had brought Gotham to its knees last year.

"I guess it's, uh, too much to hope that you're here to help me _escape_." His scars puckered as he exaggerated the last word, baring his yellow grin at Anne. Then, he folded his lips in sardonic politeness, pretending to be patiently awaiting her response. "Hmm?"

Rather than speaking, Anne merely shook her head, keeping the Glock steady in her hand. " _No_?" The Joker sounded hurt, turning his head slightly as he surveyed her. Slowly, he began to skirt to the side, as though attempting to encircle her. Anne held her ground, however, keeping her back to the door as she followed his movements with her gun. This seemed to amuse the Joker, a laugh coming from deep within his chest. "Well, are ya gonna _say_ anything? Or are you, uh… _mute_?"

Curiosity getting the better of her, Anne decided that allowing the man she was about to kill to hear her voice was harmless enough. She settled on speaking with a Russian accent however, as she still thought it prudent to conceal her identity from the clown. "I can speak."

At her words, the Joker chuckled to himself, the sound eerily high pitched and erratic. " _Now_ , who sent a… _Russian doll_ to kill me?" His emphasis on the word 'doll' made Anne bristle, her jaw clenching.

However, instead of allowing the Joker to see that his words stung, Anne merely shrugged. "Maybe the Russians," she suggested with a hint of snark, "you are incredibly bad for business, darling."

" _There_ it is," the Joker muttered with a shake of his head, tongue flicking out to lick at his scars. "You see, all you mob-types care about is _business_ ; how many, uh, _bucks_ you can make." He continued to slink to the side, almost nonchalantly. "Do ya wanna know what _I_ think?" He tilted his head, raising his brows inquisitively at Anne. "I think _you_ are missing out on all the _fun_ you can have when you realize that the mob? They're just as bad as the system you're _attempting_ to rebel against." He was almost whispering now, as if letting Anne in on a fantastic secret.

"I'm not rebelling against anything," she responded.

"Oh, but you _think_ you are!" The Joker promised, his speech hurried. Squinting his eyes at her, he took on an air of insufferable all-knowing. "You see, since ya work for the _mob-_ "

"I never said I work for the-" She began, but the Joker cut her off.

"You do." His voice was harsh, stopping any further words from Anne. " _So_ ," he continued with sarcastic deliberacy, "since you, uh, _obviously_ work for the mob, you've decided that every life has a price." He looked to her, nodding once. "How much are they paying you for me, hmm?" The Joker prompted, licking his lips like a dog confronted with a particularly juicy steak. "It oughta be a pretty penny, especially since you just _waltzed_ … right into the wolf's den." He waved an arm to indicate the cell, cocking a smug brow at her when she remained silent. "You see, every life _does_ have its price. And you - _you_ think that because you're acting on this, uh, _brilliant_ realization, you're somehow rebelling against society." His voice had taken on a distinctly high-pitched mocking tone, and Anne noticed that he was beginning to shuffle _towards_ her.

"Let me tell ya something, doll." There it was again, his insistence on calling her a doll. "Everyone, even the, uh, 'normal' people? They know that everyyy person has a price tag just… _dangling_ off them, ready to be bought. _Now_ , most of the time, they'd refuse to say that the price is money - people are funny like that - but _still_ , they know that all lives can be bought and sold. One way or another." He lifted his hands up in a rather dramatic shrug, a mocking, 'that's-just-how -it-goes' look pasted on his features.

Anne furrowed her brow as he slunk nearer. "What does that have to do with me?"

The Joker, who had been surveying her through his pinprick pupils, cleared his throat before replying. "You clearly hate this, uh, _civilized_ world we live in," He informed her, tongue popping out again as he gave her a once-over, nodding indicatively as if to say: _I mean, just look at you, you clearly have a lot of hate bundled up beneath that ski mask._ Brightly, he continued, "So, as I _said_ , you wanna revolt against it. Ya know... stick it to the man."

"You seem to know a lot about me for someone who's never met me until now." Her voice came across as defensive, and she tightened her grip on the Glock, finger straying to the trigger.

" _But_ ," The Joker raised his voice, widening his eyes in emphasis and ignoring her addition, "you're just like the people _you_ hate! You kill for a profit. That's all you care about: the _price_. Hmm?" His voice had a persuasive quality to it, and Anne had no doubt in her mind that he believed every word he was saying. _She_ was even beginning to believe it. "Or it _was_ , but now?" He spread his arms wide, and she realized just how close he had gotten. "You've realized, _deep down_ , that your little rebellion is failing, that you're just turning into _everyyyy_ one else." He tilted his head to the side, folding his scarred lips together. " _Now_ , you're looking for something... more."

Anne's mouth parted as she gazed at the face of the man before her, an arrogant grin tugging at his features. "How do you know that?" She pressed, this time taking a step forward herself.

"How do _I_ know that?" The Joker echoed mockingly, widening his eyes in sardonic sincerity. "Well, you've been in here for - five minutes?" He looked up to the ceiling, as though debating whether that was right, then gave a single nod, apparently deciding it was. "Five minutes," he declared as Anne moved still closer, the barrel of her gun now brushing the Joker's chest, right where his heart should've been. He smiled. "And you," he leaned in close, " _still_ haven't pulled that trigger."

Just then, the cell door swung open behind Anne. It slammed into the wall with a sickening bang as she spun on her heel, forgetting for a crucial second that her back was now to the Joker. Her eyes barely made out the shadowy form of the Batman before an arm was snaking around her neck and pulling tight.

She saw stars almost immediately, gasping for air as she heard Batman rasp, "Drop the gun." _Oh right,_ Anne snarled in her head, _let me just drop the gun so that the fucking clown choking me out right now can grab it and kill us both._ She had left Gotham right before the rise of the wannabe-superhero standing in front of her, but of course she had come across him numerous times while researching the Joker. From what she could tell, he was extremely dangerous. Dangerous enough that Anne suddenly decided it was time to bail.

Without thinking twice, she squeezed the trigger, blindly aiming at the Batman, hearing a faint grunt as - hopefully - the bullet hit something fatal. Then, ears ringing, she drove her elbow back as hard as she could, trying to catch the Joker in the ribs. He had presumably seen what she was doing, however, because she felt him side step just as her elbow hit air. By moving, the Joker had inadvertently loosened his grip on Anne's neck and she was able to wiggle herself further to the side, so that he was almost standing next to her. Using this opportunity, she jumped up, throwing her entire body weight forwards and carrying the Joker with her as she flipped them both over.

Despite Anne being cushioned from the brunt of the impact by the Joker's body, the fall, combined with the fact that she had just been choked, left her winded. Coughing and heaving uncontrollably, she managed to clumsily turn herself over so that she wasn't _literally_ laying on top of a psychotic clown. Instead, she knelt over the Joker, using one knee to pin down his legs, while her other foot and empty hand took care of his arms. The Joker, much to her irritation, appeared to be having the time of his life, laughing hysterically as Anne leveled her Glock at his deranged face.

" _C'mon_ ," he was cackling, "shoot me!"

Blood pounding in her ears, Anne's finger pressed lightly against the trigger. _Fucking do it!_ But she couldn't. _What's wrong with me?_ The Joker's words were tangled into her brain, and the thought of pulling the trigger filled Anne with the same dread she got whenever she thought seriously about giving up cigarettes. _You let him into your head._ She knew it was true; she had entered the cell far too vulnerable and now she was reaping the consequences.

Growling in frustration, Anne whipped the Joker across the face with her gun before jumping back up, her gaze finding the Batman. He was still hunkered down in the doorway, just now regaining his feet with a groan. _I can't fight him._ She knew her limits, and the Batman was certainly beyond her limits as a fighter. He must've weighed close to 300 pounds in his armor, and she had heard he was trained in martial arts. _Well,_ she thought, mentally reviewing her options, _I can shoot him again._ Lifting her Glock, she trained it on the Batman's exposed mouth, getting ready to pull the trigger, when he charged at her.

He moved much faster than Anne would've expected, given his bulky figure, and she barely had time to duck as he launched a right hook at her, a punch which surely would've knocked her out had it hit. Clearly, he had not been expecting her to dodge his blow, as he stumbled slightly from the force he had placed behind it, allowing Anne to get behind him. Immediately, she pivoted, kicking the Batman squarely in between the shoulder blades with all the strength she could muster. It did little good. He barely staggered at all, and Anne, for her part, felt as though she had just kicked a rock. Cursing inwardly, she made a mad dash for the door, dimly aware of the Joker scrambling to his feet behind her.

She was almost out of the cell when someone tackled her to the ground. It took her approximately two seconds to realize that - thankfully - it was the Joker, and _not_ the 300 pound man. As she crashed to the cement floor, her Glock was thrown out into the hallway, leaving her without a weapon in hand. _Shit!_

The Joker was completely on top of her, his knees digging painfully into her back and thighs as he pinned her to the ground. She felt him fumbling with a pocket on her pants, and she realized he was going for the knife she had sheathed there. _Oh fuck no._ With a surge of strength, she struggled against his weight, gasping for breath and attempting to wriggle herself free as she heard the Joker finally pull the knife from its sheath. Panicking, and expecting the fatal blow to come any moment, Anne reached behind her and vainly attempted to grab one of her other knives. But it was no use, the Joker's leg was blocking her hand.

Then, just as she had made her peace with death, Anne felt the weight of the Joker miraculously disappear. Immediately, she flipped onto her back, just in time to see Batman fling him bodily into the wall before turning to look down at her.

Eyes widening, she pushed off the ground, rolling backwards into a standing position. As the Batman lunged at her once more, she jumped, placing one of her feet on his forearm and using it as leverage to hop onto his shoulders. Squeezing his neck with her thighs, hoping to restrict his airflow, she simultaneously brought her elbows down on his head as hard as she could. As she did this, the Joker sprang up and lurched into the Batman, who was, once again, blocking the way to the door.

She just had time to see the clown thrust his newly acquired blade into Batman's abdomen, before her arm was being yanked with such force she was sent flying directly into the Joker. Her weight took them both down, and she hissed in pain as she felt the knife nick her arm. Thankfully, she managed to roll to her feet swiftly, out of reach of any more cuts. Then, wasting no time, Anne kicked off the nearest wall, tucking and flipping in mid air so as not to connect with the Batman as she jumped over his outstretched arms. The second her feet hit the ground, she took off at a dead run.

She made it out of the cell door, reaching down and scooping up her Glock, before instantly pivoting and firing at the Batman, the noise deafening. He fell down, the bullets burying themselves deep into his back armor. Perhaps they penetrated to the skin, perhaps they didn't. Anne didn't have time to stick around and find out. She turned and dashed down the hallway, heading for the stairs. She could kill the Joker another day (provided she got over her current mental block), but he wasn't worth risking getting caught by Gotham's favorite vigilante.

As she ran, she heard footsteps racing after her, and, on instinct, she whipped around and shot. Her bullet went wide - as she knew it would - but it was enough to stop the Joker's pursuit. Panting, he whooped with laughter, eyes staring straight down the barrel of her Glock. Leaning down and resting his hands on his thighs to catch his breath, he spoke. "Ya know... I, uh, _think_ you've already proven incapable of taking the shot." His voice had lowered in register, almost a growl now, and Anne's pulse quickened as something akin to fear lit up her nerves. "We _both_ know you can't do it." The black gaze was glimmering through the dim light, scarred visage slack with an almost inhuman intensity as a steady dribble of blood fell from where she had pistol-whipped him. _Shoot him. You'll have to eventually. Better to get it over with._ Anne tightened her grip on the Glock. _But,_ another internal voice interjected, _what if you just never kill him? What if you join him instead? He said it himself, you're looking for more._ Her grip loosened. _And 'more' is standing right in front of you._ Hesitantly, she lowered the gun.

The Joker seemed to take this as his cue, and he rushed at Anne, her knife still clutched in his hand. She was quicker, however. Jamming her Glock back into its holster, she spun around and took a running leap down the stairs, hitting the landing before jumping down the next set. Then she was on the second floor, sprinting through the tiled halls as she heard the Joker scrambling down the stairs after her. _I'm letting him escape._ The thought was at the forefront of her mind as she ran. _Worse than that, I'm practically_ helping _him escape._

Remembering her AK, she raced into the staff break room, hopping over the corpses she had left, all the while painfully aware that the Joker was now gaining on her. _I'll never be able to outrun him._ With that in mind, she made a split second decision. Grabbing her Glock, she shot out the nearest window, covering her face with a hand as she did so. Then she stored the gun away once more, gathered her courage and rifle, and dove through the opening.

The wind shot into her eyes, blinding her, as she barreled through the air. As she fell she began to realize that the drop was a _lot_ farther than she had estimated. _It'll be fine, it'll be fine_ , she told herself, clutching her AK with white knuckles.

Then, she was hitting the gravel and rolling, distributing the force evenly enough that nothing broke. _Ha!_ Glee filled Anne as she threw her rifle over her shoulder and sprinted towards the nearest watchtower. _There's no way the Joker can do that._ And she appeared to be right; no one followed her out the window. She had bought herself time.

Reaching the ladder of the watchtower she paused, catching her breath and finally reaching under her ski mask to turn the earcom back on, thoroughly prepared for a livid Pari.

"Pari!" She hissed, keeping her eyes peeled for the Joker. " _Pari_!"

" _What_?" The girl sounded incensed, her voice shaking with anger. _Oh boy, this is gonna take some damage control._

"Listen, I'm sorry for turning off the earcom. I needed to concentrate. I was gonna kill the Joker, but-"

"I _know_ what happened," Pari's voice cut through Anne's words, full of venom. "There are cameras in the cell, I could see and hear everything." There was a pause, then, "You _hesitated_. You couldn't do it." Another pause. "You know I only agreed to help you because you were going after someone who deserved it this time. Morally, he should be one of the easiest kills you've ever made. And yet he wasn't. _Why_? I have seen you murder so many people I can't even remember them all, and yet _this_ is the one that gives you trouble." The disappointment was almost palpable, and Anne felt a dangerous heat beginning to boil in her blood. But she couldn't act on her annoyance, not yet; she still needed Pari.

"If you were watching, then ya know the Batman decided to just fucking meander in. I couldn't risk getting caught by him, I had to bail." The excuse, which Anne partially believed herself, was ready on her tongue. "Don't worry, darling," her tone became warm as a smile crept across her face, "I have a plan."

"You do?" Skepticism edged the girl's voice.

"Uh _huh_." Taking one last look around the courtyard and seeing nothing, she began to climb the ladder. "This earcom has a tracker in it, right?" When Pari murmured in agreement, she continued. "Well, I'm gonna give it to the Joker." Anne ignored the snort of disbelief, ploughing on. "We can use it to find him again. He's a smart cookie, he'll figure out why I'm giving it to him, and I think he's gonna wanna talk to me again." She made it to the top of the tower, slinking along the boardwalk and spotting a figure running across the yard, exiting the asylum out of a side door. It was the Joker. How he had managed to get the slip on Batman was beyond her, perhaps she really _had_ wounded the vigilante with her gunshots.

"Why would he want that? He knows you're trying to kill him." Pari's voice brought Anne back to the conversation at hand, and she ripped her eyes away from the Joker and turned back to the tower, passing the door which led to the control room. There were large glass windows separating the control room from the boardwalk, and Anne's gaze was immediately drawn to the bullet hole in one of the panels, followed by a spattering of blood and gore where she had sniped the guard. _Damn, that_ was _a good shot._

"I'm not sure, I just have a hunch he enjoys games like this," Anne elaborated, checking to make sure the Joker was still out of earshot (he was). "Anyway, ya heard him in the cell, he doesn't think I can actually kill him, so he has nothing to lose by letting me find him."

"I mean…" Pari trailed off in hesitation, "is he wrong on that front? You're right, I heard him and I heard _you_. You sounded defensive, it was as if you knew he was right."

"'Course he's wrong, honey." Anne's tone was full of confidence she didn't have. "So we have a plan?" She queried, switching topics; she didn't want to discuss the Joker with Pari any longer.

There was a long stretch of silence, then, "Yes. If he takes the earcom, I'll keep tracking it for you." Anne smiled as her friend spoke. "But-" _Oh no._ "-if this plan doesn't work, I'm done helping you. I'm sorry, but I can no longer do this kind of work in good conscience. Even if it is to catch the Joker."

 _That_ vexed Anne, and her mind was suddenly filled with a vision of bashing Pari's head into a wall until it split open like a melon. The image brought a grin to her face, but she ultimately realized the futility in the desire; if she murdered Pari, she would be losing one of her greatest assets in Gotham. Although if it turned out that the girl really _was_ serious about never aiding Anne again, then perhaps her death would be of little consequence to the assassin. _I'll just have to see how it all plays out, I suppose._

"Understood." Anne turned and smiled into the camera within the control room, where she knew Pari was watching her intently. Then, a rattling from below brought her attention to the ladder. Leaning over the edge of the boardwalk, Anne saw the Joker beginning to mount the rungs. Smiling, she waved at him, the action perhaps a _tad_ more taunting than was called for.

"Did you really have to wave at him?" Pari's voice sounded equal parts exasperated and irritated.

" _Yes_."

"Why?"

"Just being friendly, darling."

"To a domestic terrorist?"

Laughing, Anne turned and hopped onto the railing of the boardwalk, catching her balance for a moment before launching herself up onto the roof of the control room. Not only did it give her a way to escape easily, it also got her out of the Joker's immediate reach.

Squatting down, Anne lowered her voice to a whisper. "Okay, I'm turning the earcom off now."

"Wait!" Pari's voice rushed through. "How are you going to get out of the asylum, do you need me to open the gates?"

"Nah," she responded, her voice scarcely audible so that the Joker wouldn't be able to overhear her words, "I'm gonna jump the fence. And the Joker will be able to open the gate from the control room, which will take more time. That way, I can drive away with Kat before he's even out."

Pari sighed into her ear, "Okay."

"Talk to ya later, sweetheart." Anne's tone was sickly sweet as she turned the earcom off, just as the Joker made it to the boardwalk, his gaze finding Anne in no time. Before he could speak up and crawl his way back into her head, she took the earpiece out and waved it above her head, clearly indicating that she was about to throw it to him. He raised his hands in response and she tossed it, watching as he caught it easily.

Cackling, he brought the earcom up to his face for inspection before returning his gaze to her. "Oooh, are we gonna play _hide and seek_?"

Anne snorted derisively. "Something like that," she replied, remembering her Russian accent. Then, before he could say anything else, she was standing up, yanking her AK off her back and taking a running leap at the gap between the watchtower and the fence. As she sailed through the air, she straightened her body out, barely clearing the barbed wire, before she was twisting into a roll, preparing for the ground to rush up and meet her. It happened quicker than she had anticipated and she felt her shoulder wrench slightly as she somersaulted through the landing, making it to her feet in one smooth move.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Anne slung her rifle back over her shoulder and immediately began racing towards the western side of the fence, where Kat had parked the getaway car. She saw the dented Chevy in no time, rushing up to the passenger side and tapping on the window. As Kat hurried to unlock the doors, Anne turned to look through the fence, gazing at the Arkham gate. She saw it beginning to slowly creak open and a strange sensation flooded into her fingertips as she realized that the Joker was at large again.

The sound of the doors clicking open brought her attention back to the car, and she quickly scurried into the passenger seat, depositing the rifle at her feet as Kat slammed on the gas pedal.

"How did it go?" Kat asked, and Anne saw the way her brow furrowed slightly as she gave the assassin a once-over.

"Turn the lights off," Anne instructed in lieu of a response, checking the rearview mirror for tails as Kat killed the headlights.

"That didn't answer my question," her friend pressed, blowing through a rusted stop sign. Anne didn't fail to note the suspicion edging Kat's tone, and she sighed inwardly as she reached for the pack of Marlboros in the cupholder, taking one out and lighting it. She took a long drag before finally responding.

"Well, I gotta fight fucking yin and yang, so _that_ was fascinating." An ember flew from her cigarette, floating lazily down to her lap, where she put it out with a single, gloved finger.

"What the _fuck_ does that mean?" Kat snapped, glaring at Anne. "Did you complete the hit or not?"

"Define 'complete.'"

"Oh my god, you've got to be fucking kidding me." Kat groaned aloud, shaking her head before adding, "I almost knew this was gonna happen." _That_ piqued Anne's interest, and she turned to face her friend, eyes narrowing.

"Why d'ya say that, honey?" Her tone was casual, but the way she blew her smoke at Kat conveyed her annoyance. Coughing pointedly and waving her hand to clear the air, the girl rolled her eyes.

"Oh, no reason, love. It's just that you tend to be drawn to things you perceive as dangerous," Kat jabbed a finger at Anne's cigarette, as if to say ' _case in point_ ', before continuing. "And I can see where you would be, uh…. How do I put this?" She scrunched her face, taking a sharp turn as she did so. " _Very_ drawn to the Joker."

Anne was immediately put on the defensive. "That is _not_ true."

"Really? Which part?" Kat's voice was dripping with sarcasm as she raised her brows. "Because, knowing you, I can't think of any other reason you would fail to kill the Joker. You've never failed a hit before."

 _Yes I have_ , Anne added silently. But she didn't need Kat knowing that. " _Actually_ , I couldn't kill him because the Batman showed up. That's what I meant by yin and yang. The Joker and Batman."

"What?" Kat shot Anne an incredulous look. "Oh and will you please take that stupid thing off your face?"

Huffing, Anne ripped the ski mask off, tossing it by her feet. "Happy?" She asked with all the sweetness of poison.

"Not really," Kat quipped, "but keep going with your story. What happened when the Batman showed up?"

Anne stalled for a moment, turning the radio on before finally answering. "I shot the masked bastard a couple times, but I think his armor protected him from the worst of it. Uhhh… Clownface got one of my knives, and nicked me with it." A stream of smoke blew softly from her nostrils as she thought. "Then I ran out of the cell and Smiley himself followed. Oh and I'm pretty sure Flying Mammal Man was kinda beat up by this point, 'cause he didn't chase us or anything."

"Are you telling me," Kat's voice was soft, lowered with intensity as she completely ignored Anne's _hilarious_ nicknames, "that the Joker escaped from Arkham?"

Anne folded her lips together and nodded with sarcastic sorrow, "Bingo, sweetheart."

"Oh my god, not only did you fail to kill the Joker, you fucking _helped_ him escape!" Kat's eyes were ablaze as she turned to look at Anne, who was desperately trying not to grin.

"I did _no_ such thing," she replied delicately, watching as Kat reached to kill the radio. "If you turn that off, I'll shoot you." Anne warned; the station was playing _American Pie_. Ignoring Kat's indignant hiss, she added, "Anyways, don't worry. Me and Pari made a plan."

"Pari and _I_ ," Kat corrected immediately, and Anne saw a smile tugging at the girl's lips.

"Ya know I have a gun, right?"

"It's not my fault you never went to school, love." Kat shot the assassin a somewhat smug look, but Anne saw the undercurrent of adoration beneath it. She held her gaze for a moment before Kat broke into giggles.

" _Pari and I_!" Anne finally snapped, smacking Kat on the shoulder and mocking her laughter to get her to shut up.

Biting her lip to stifle the chuckles, Kat queried, "So what's the plan?" Still annoyed, Anne's tone was flat as she relayed the discussion she had with Pari. She finished just as the car pulled into the apartment parking lot, her cigarette completely burnt out. Kat remained silent for a moment after Anne had completed her story, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Then, she took a deep breath and turned in her seat, signaling that neither of them should get out of the car yet.

"Anne," Kat took on an air of premeditation, and the assassin could instantly tell that her friend had been wanting to say these next words for a while. "Maybe you shouldn't go through with the hit. Maybe you should just tell your boss you can't do it."

 _You really shouldn't have said that._ Anne felt her blood beginning to boil and she shot Kat a cold grin. "That's not gonna happen, sweetheart."

Kat, to her credit, held her ground in the face of the anger. "Why not?"

 _Oh my fucking god._ The girl's defiance sent Anne over the edge. "Are you fucking _dumb_?" She spat, her voice rising as her irritation spilled out. "I can't just tell Mikhas that I'm not going through with a hit! He'll fucking _kill_ me!" She slammed her palm on the car's dash. "Ya think I just get to choose who I kill? That's not how it works, _honey_!"

Kat, who had flinched at Anne's sudden movement, now looked ready to put a bullet in the assassin's head. "You're such a bitch." Her lips were quivering as she spoke. "And I'm sorry that you're scared, but that's no excuse-"

"I'm not fucking scared!" She cut through Kat's words, but found that she didn't know whether she was lying or not.

"Bull _shit_." The girl hissed through clenched teeth, seeming to regain herself. "You're worried that you won't be able to kill the Joker." She jabbed her finger at Anne, gaze hard. "You're an addict, Anne, you have been since you were fucking eleven. You're _always_ looking for the thing that can give you the best high." Reaching over, Kat plucked the cigarette butt out of her friend's fingers, holding it up before Anne's eyes. "You're worried he's gonna become _this_." Kat shook the cigarette. "An addiction."

Anne opened her mouth to respond, but didn't trust herself to speak. Instead, as if acting on reflex, she reached to the side, fingers aching for her Glock, before she stopped herself. But the movement didn't go unnoticed by Kat, whose eyes widened, breath hitching.

"Are you gonna shoot me?" The girl's hand strayed to the car door, clearly getting ready to make a break for it.

Anne beat her to it however, grabbing her rifle and ski mask off the floor, before groping blindly at the door until she found the handle. "No," she snarled in response, hopping out of the car and setting off in the direction of the apartment's fire escape. Kat scrambled out after her, and Anne heard the car click as it locked.

"Anne! _What_ are you doing?" The girl was hissing at her, voice barely audible. "You can't just walk around here with a fucking rifle!" But Anne ignored her, highly doubting anyone normal would be out in Gotham this late at night. Besides, if she did see someone, she could always shoot them if she thought they would prove a pain. Kat continued snapping at her for a time, before Anne disappeared around the corner, and the girl was forced to turn around and head into the apartment through the lobby.

Anne, for her part, found the fire escape quickly and climbed up, praying no one decided to look out their window as she jumped from platform to platform. Thankfully, she reached Kat's window with little hassle, swiftly slipping into the apartment. As she shut the window behind her and looked around the living room, she realized she had beat Kat there. _Thank god._

Not particularly wanting to interact with her friend, Anne headed straight to her room, locking the door behind her. Immediately, she threw her rifle and Glock onto the bed, suddenly aware of an uneasy feeling beginning in her stomach. She felt as though she were going to be sick, her limbs shaking and her palms sweating. _What the fuck is wrong with me? Why couldn't I pull the trigger?_ She had only ever failed a hit once before, when she had been sent to kill a bigtime thief. Mikhas had been making a deal with a fence, when he realized that the fence was trying to sell him art pieces which had been stolen from the mob leader to begin with. Needless to say, the man had not been happy. After he had Anne kill the fence, Mikhas then sent her to find the thief, who had been hiding in France. Anne found them quickly, as the Bratva connections were impeccable, especially in Europe. But the mark hadn't been a man, as Anne had been expecting, instead she had been confronted by Élisabeth Peyrard.

The girl was her age, wily, vicious, and absurdly elegant; she had reminded Anne of a sophisticated version of herself. She hadn't been able to pull the trigger then either. _She told me I couldn't do it because if I killed her it would be as if I was killing myself too._ Anne looked down and was surprised to find a vodka bottle in her hand. _And she was right. If I go around killing people like me and Élisabeth, what would the world be?_ She took a drink from the bottle, closing her eyes as she relished the burn slipping down her throat and chest. _We're a special breed of terrible. Without us, who would be left? Just the normal dickheads._ Anne sighed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out, placing one between her smeared lips and lighting it. As she took her first inhale, she wandered over to the desk she had claimed as her own, rummaging through the drawers. _Bingo!_

She took the tiny baggy of snow out, placing her razor blade next to it, before taking a seat at the desk chair. Calmly, she poured the powder and began cutting it into lines, her fingers fumbling. Anne had no idea why her entire body seemed to be in a state of shock, but she didn't like it. The vodka wasn't helping quickly enough either, she needed more, and she hoped the cocaine would give her the _more_. But if that didn't work she would have to pull out the dope.

 _More,_ her mind raced as she lowered her head and snorted the three lines in quick succession. _He said I was looking for more._ Her gaze scanned the substances in front of her as she rubbed her nose. _He's right, I've been looking for more since I had my first cigarette._ Anne's lips puckered around the Marlboro, the smoke filling her lungs and manufacturing an otherwise unobtainable contentedness. _And the Bratva? Was he right about that too?_ Her head began to spin and she felt the cocaine kick in. _No, no, no, no._ She blinked rapidly, shooting upright in her chair, remembering that she would have to eventually face Mikhas and Alexei if she truly couldn't kill the Joker.

 _I can't,_ Anne gulped down another helping of vodka, gagging at the quantity. _I can't tell them the truth. If they find out I directly disobeyed them, they'll make sure I die screaming._ At least with Élisabeth, Anne had been able to find a stranger who looked enough like the thief to pass her body off as the correct mark. With the Joker, this wouldn't be an option, he was too well-known, too distinct looking. _I might as well kill myself now._ She realized she was shivering and, terrified, she sucked at the cigarette, hoping it would calm her down.

Still trembling, she poured more of the snow out onto the desk, already feeling the effect begin to dim slightly. As she cut the lines her gaze locked in on the razor blade, watching the way it caught the light, reflecting back at her. It looked like it was winking. _More,_ her mind whispered _._ Suddenly, as if in a trance, she reached up and pulled the waning Marlboro out of her quivering lips. Without taking her eyes off the razor, she pushed the cigarette into her palm, savoring the feeling of her searing flesh as the embers extinguished against her skin. She never realized how much she missed the agony until she was given a fleeting taste of it. Then, a hunger for pain would flare up within her once more, making the sickness seem a little less empty.

Tossing the cigarette bud to the side, she moved the blade closer to her face, abandoning the lines and instead focusing solely on the new craving. She felt the scars criss-crossing her arms and legs begin to tingle, remembering their own origins. _I wonder if the Joker's scars are self-inflicted?_ Her mind was beginning to feel fuzzy once more, as the alcohol overtook the coke. _I doubt I'll ever know._ Anne's brain began procuring scenarios in which the Joker told her exactly where his smile came from, but even inebriated she knew they were mere fantasies, not based in any reality she would experience. _I need to speak with him again. Just one more time, to ask him how he knew I wanted more out of life._ She ran a gentle finger along the razor. _Just one more time._

"Anne!" Kat's voice broke through the assassin's stupor, and she snapped her head around to stare at the locked door. The girl knocked again. "Are you alright?" She sounded equal parts worried and enraged. "You're not doing anything destructive, are you?" At that, Anne looked down at the straight blade in her hand and let it fall from her fingers, listening as it clattered to the desk. _Not today,_ she thought, _I don't do that kinda shit anymore._

Sitting back, Anne grabbed the battle of vodka once more, sipping it in resolve as she weathered out Kat's incessant knocking and questioning. She never responded, but that did little to deter the girl, who stood at the door for what felt like an eternity before eventually giving up, muttering obscenities as she stormed off. Anne smirked slightly as she heard the words 'bitch' and 'fuck' being used liberally. _I really need to find my own place before Kat kicks me out._

Setting the vodka aside, she returned to her cocaine, snorting the lines she had begun earlier. _I never fucking learn, do I?_ The powder stuck in her nose as she inhaled sharply. _I'm so weak._ Straightening back up, she felt blood beginning to drip from her nostrils and she cursed as she brought her finger up to stem the flow. _I've never been able to resist anything even mildly intoxicating._ Her gaze wandered over to the bed, where her guns lay, and she found herself flashing back to the cell in Arkham. The Glock, the darkness, the pain, the voice. _The voice_. It had crept into her brain, encircling her thoughts and constricting them until the voice was the only thing in her mind. _I'm so weak,_ Anne thought again, a rivulet of blood creeping down her hand. _So fucking weak._ The blood slipped from her hand onto the desktop, gleaming in the light. _And one of these days it's gonna kill me._ Another drop of blood fell from her nose, mixing with the remnants of the cocaine. _Sooner rather than later._ Anger began to creep into her, gnawing at the edges of her fear, and she swept her arm across the table abruptly, swiping the vodka bottle onto the floor. It shattered as soon as it hit the ground, glass exploding into the air. Anne stared at it for a moment before getting up with a sigh.

She skirted around the shards, making her way instead to the bed, where she immediately shoved her guns off the mattress, hoping the AK had its safety on. Then she began pulling her clothes off, starting with the boots. As she worked, blood from her nostrils slipped down onto her lips, but she merely licked the liquid off, no stranger to the taste. Finally, stripped down to her underwear, she climbed into the bed, curling beneath the covers as she shivered uncontrollably. _Tomorrow everything will be better._ She almost believed it too. _I'll call Pari, find the Joker, and put a bullet in his fucking clownface._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the title inspo for this chapter from a Lana Del Rey song by the same name, I would highly recommend it! 
> 
> Up Next: With the Joker on the loose, the game suddenly becomes much more interesting.


	5. Blood Red Roses

**Blood Red Roses**

" _Cause I've done some things that I can't speak of,_

_And I tried to wash you away but you just won't leave._

_So won't you take a breath and dive in deep?_

_Cause I came here so you'd come for me._

_I'm begging you to keep on haunting me."_

- **Haunting,** Halsey

* * *

The day dawned cold and clear as Anne made her way down the sidewalk, wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt to hide the outline of her shoulder holster. She kept the hood up, making sure to cover her sullen face and tangled hair, which she had not bothered to brush before heading out that morning. As she walked she heard the murmurings on every lip of the citizens of Gotham. "The Joker escaped," they were all saying, keeping their voices low as one would do at a funeral. "Just last night. He's loose in the city again." Anne tried her best to ignore it, blinking her bloodshot eyes against the icy, spring gale. She needed a drink and a cigarette, to cope with her hangover. But there was one thing she must do first.

She had told Alexei to make sure Mikhas kept an eye on the Gotham news channels, and if he had, she was positive he would be seeing all the recent coverage of the Joker's escape. She needed to contact Alexei and reassure him, and more importantly Mikhas, that she still had the situation under control. She could never let them suspect that she had been at Arkham last night, that she had spoken with the Joker, fought him, and then ultimately let him go. _I have to kill him, I_ have _to. Or else they'll kill me._

She found the payphone Kat had told her about outside a convenience store, glass panels layered with grime. A man was already inside of it as she approached, but she couldn't hear what he was saying, or if he was speaking at all. Groaning inwardly at being forced to wait, Anne crossed her arms and gazed at the man's back as he kept his ear pressed firmly to the phone, wishing she could shoot him and be done with it. She waited for what felt like an eternity before the man finally hung up and turned around to exit the booth. He gave her a wane smile as he opened the door and scooted past.

"Sorry, miss." He sounded not the least bit apologetic, and Anne stared at him blankly for a moment, counting in her head to quell the rage she felt beginning to boil in her veins.

"It's fine." She forced a grin onto her face, pushing past the man and practically slamming the door of the payphone behind her as she entered. It was only as she reached to pick up the phone and dial that she realized she was shaking. _Damn this fucking hangover._

Anne brought the phone, red and filthy, up to her ear, but couldn't find it within herself to dial the number she knew by heart. The number Alexei had told her she could always reach him with. The problem now was that she didn't _want_ to reach him, she didn't want to speak with him or hear his voice, and she definitely didn't want to tell him the lies she had already prepared. Not because she thought _he_ wouldn't believe her, Alexei was so stupid he would readily accept anything out of her mouth, Anne was more concerned about Mikhas. He may not have been a genius like the Joker, but the man was hard to fool in his own way, and suspicious by nature.

"I heard the security footage is all corrupted." A muffled voice outside the payphone caught Anne's attention, and she turned her head abruptly to watch a young couple hurry past, talking excitedly to one another about the Joker's escape.

"Do you think Batman knows?"

"For sure. I'm just hoping the Joker's captured soon."

"But do you think that's likely? If he's smart enough to escape Arkham, he's probably smart enough to not get caught again."

Then they were too far away, and Anne could no longer hear them. Sighing, she turned back to the phone, feeling nausea beginning to take hold of her stomach. _You're fine,_ she told herself sharply. _You can get yourself out of any situation._ With that in mind, she punched in Alexei's number, tapping her foot as she listened to the dial tone and prepared for the conversation.

"Да?" The sound of her handler's voice sent a jolt through her body, and Anne furiously dug the nails of her free hand into her palm, wishing she had brought a cigarette with her.

"Alexei?" She forced her tone to be pleasant, raising it an octave and speaking with a painful smile. "Ya there?"

"Roulette!" Alexei's shout was filled with such genuine joy Anne could've gagged. "I was wondering when I would hear from you."

"Then today is your lucky day, honey," she teased back, hoping if she was sweet to him things would go over better for her.

"I've missed you." _Really? What about me have you missed? Beating me or fucking me? I wonder._

"What?" Anne let him hear her chuckle through the phone. "The other girls you fuck aren't enough?" At that, Alexei broke into laughter, but knew better than to deny it.

"They're not you, Roulette." _You should be thankful for that._ She heard Alexei sigh, clearly content. "Ah, I _have_ missed you."

 _That_ made Anne's skin prickle with discomfort, and she abruptly changed the topic. "Have ya heard the news?"

"What news?" He _sounded_ as though he was confused, but Anne knew he was just messing with her, trying to catch her in a lie. It was a strategy Mikhas had taught him, however Alexei was terrible at anything related to manipulation and always made a butchery of it, leaving the strategy itself rather useless. Although, it _did_ tell her that the boss was suspicious enough to instruct Alexei to prod at Anne and see if she was hiding anything. _Mikhas should damn well know by now that Alexei will never be able to outsmart me, he's dumb as fuck._

"Clownface escaped from Arkham yesterday. I was planning on doing the job tonight, but his escape fucks things up a little." Anne kept her voice steady; she had always been good at lying, and spending time in the Bratva had only honed that skill. "Don't worry though, darling, I'll be able to find the bastard eventually. It might just take longer than I originally thought."

"How much longer?" She could hear Alexei's frown and Anne took a deep breath before responding.

"I dunno, maybe a couple days." She leaned against the payphone's window, squinting against the early morning sunlight. She was painfully aware of how fuzzy her mind felt, doubtless due to her hangover and lack of cigarette. "And then I'll need to find a way to smuggle my equipment back to Moscow."

"That won't be an issue," Alexei told her. "We have men in Gotham, they'll find you when the time comes." _When the time comes…_

"They won't find me, Alexei." Anne couldn't stop herself, she needed to make sure Alexei, and by extension Mikhas, heard this from her own lips. "I'll find _them_."

Her handler laughed at that, but it was different from his usual chuckles, this one sounded darker and more hollow. "Whatever you say, малыш."

 _Malysh… he never calls me that._ Immediately put on her guard, Anne straightened up. "Uh huh." She was eager to be done with this call and get back to the apartment so she could smoke. "Sorry, honey, I've gotta go-"

"Wait." Anne felt her heart drop and it took all her strength not to hang up the phone right then. "Mikhas wants to speak with you." _Of fucking course he does._

"That's _lovely_. Why dontcha put him on then?" Her sarcasm was evident but Anne found that she forgot to care.

"I will… bye for now. Ah, I _do_ hope I see you soon," Alexei sounded almost sad as he spoke, and Anne was forced to remember that, despite the atrocious things he had done, Alexei still was, and always would be, just a man.

"Me too, darling, me too." She heard shuffling on the other end, as Alexei went to hand the phone over to the boss. Anne grew even more sullen as she waited, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete. All she could think of were Marlboros, even her worry over the Joker had dissipated in light of her new frustration.

"Hello Roulette." Mikhas's voice was much deeper than Alexei's, and coarser, grown rough over the years from countless cigars. Anne wondered if her voice would one day sound like that. Most likely, if she grew old enough, it would. But she doubted she would live past thirty.

"How are ya, sir?" She tried to put a smile in her voice, knowing Mikhas preferred her when she smiled. For a while, during her beginning with the Bratva, she had been worried that Mikhas would want to fuck her eventually. And perhaps he had, but after Alexei had claimed her, Mikhas had let the matter rest, viewing her handler as a second son and not wanting to complicate matters further by taking up with his quasi-girlfriend. In some small way, it made Anne thankful for Alexei.

"I'm well," he responded brusquely. "Now, listen here, what is this business with the Joker I have been hearing about? He was your mark, yes? And yet he escaped from prison?" There was calculated anger hidden in his words, which caused Anne to grin slightly. "How the fuck are you going to find the crazy man now?"

"I'm finding new eyes and ears everyday, boss," she lied, thinking back to Pari and her earcom. "He'll turn up sooner or later." Anne shifted on her feet, feeling her Glock press uncomfortably into her side. "And when he does, ya know the drill. I'll sneak up behind him and put a bullet in his head, just like I always do."

There was a pause on Mikhas's end. "You better do it _quickly_ , Roulette. Remember why he is your mark in the first place? I told you a man like this doesn't stay locked up for long. And now look. You have fucked up, you should've completed the job sooner instead of fucking putting it of." He sounded aggressive, but Anne knew he was just trying to get her to crack, to slip up in her story.

"Sorry ya feel that way." Her response bordered on insolence, but there was little Mikhas could do about it. "I promise, I'll get him in the next couple of days. I've never let you down before, and I won't this time."

"I hope so, for your sake." His tone grew noticeably more ominous, despite the nonchalance with which the threat was delivered. "You should know _I_ have eyes and ears in Gotham too, I'll know if you lie or fail." Another pause. "And it will end very badly for you, Roulette, if you fail me."

Anne cast her gaze around at the people passing by, watching them through the grimey glass, wondering if any of them reported back to Mikhas. Wondering if she was being watched this very second. "Understood, boss." Her eyes found a man sitting on a bench across the street, facing her as he read a newspaper. She squinted at him, wondering if she could put a bullet through his head from here. "But _you_ should know, no matter what happens, I have a feeling it will end badly for me either way." She tapped the glass right where she would aim the gun, were she to take the shot, picking up some of the payphone's filth on her finger. "I don't think my life can end well at this point."

Mikhas remained silent for a long while after that, and Anne could hear his brain whirling, deciding what to make of her words. After a few minutes, he merely said, "Goodbye, I will be in touch." Then he hung up, leaving Anne alone with her thoughts and the man across the street.

Even after she had dropped the phone, she continued standing in the booth, watching the man read his newspaper in the clear, pale gold of the sun. He had one ankle resting on the opposite knee, oddly patterned socks evident beneath his suit pants, which were themselves completely unremarkable, crisp and black and boring. Citizen after citizen passed by him, taking no notice of the man on the bench with the funny socks, all of them consumed in their own lives and worries. But Anne noticed him, noticed the socks, noticed the forehead where she had envisioned putting a bullet. It was only after the man began to shift in his seat that she exited the payphone, pushing open the door and allowing the gale to snag at her clothing and burn her eyes. She walked a few paces before turning to look over her shoulder, trying to catch one last glimpse of the man. But he was gone, his spot on the bench completely vacant. She wondered if he had ever been there.

* * *

Anne walked into the apartment to find Kat awake and dressed, lounging on the couch as she flicked through news channels, all of which were fervently discussing the Joker's escape and what it meant for Gotham. Anne tried hard to pretend she didn't hear it.

"Morning," she called to Kat, locking the apartment door behind her and unzipping her sweatshirt. Kat turned around right as Anne pulled her Glock from its holster, ejecting the magazine and setting it onto the counter before turning and rummaging through a drawer.

"Where have you been?" Kat's voice almost sounded accusatory and Anne had a feeling that stemmed from the Glock.

"I haven't killed anyone, if that's what you're asking," she shot back, finding the pack of Marlboro Reds she had been looking for. "At least not this morning." She stuck one in her mouth, lighting it quickly and inhaling, enjoying the way it took the edge off her headache. "I was calling Alexei," she finally said, reaching into a cabinet to grab a glass.

"Why?" Kat's tone was still accusatory, although less so.

"Business," Anne grunted out, not wanting to get into specifics with her. Setting the glass on the counter, she ran into her room, only to emerge a moment later with a fresh bottle of vodka. She poured a generous amount before Kat felt the need to speak up.

"Anne it's fucking 8 in the morning." She had fully turned around now, glaring at the contract killer and her drink from the couch.

"Oh, you're right darling, my bad." She swallowed a mouthful of vodka before heading to the fridge. "Ya got any tonic water?"

"That is _not_ what I meant." Anne snickered to herself and grabbed her drink off the counter, taking up her own seat on the couch. Kat grudgingly moved her feet to make room for her, still eyeing the vodka with disgust. After a moment of silence, broken only by the news, Kat spoke up once more. "I've been meaning to ask you… what _exactly_ is your relationship with Alexei?" She paused. "I mean like do you two get along? Are you friends? Do you… I don't know, fuck?"

Anne snorted into her vodka at the last one, coughing for a moment before regaining herself. "I get along with him as much as I get along with anyone in the Bratva." She took a long draught on her cigarette before adding, "And yeah, we fuck, since you're so curious. But if it was up to me we wouldn't, I only sleep with him to, ya know, safeguard my position."

Kat eyed her thoughtfully. "So you don't love him?" Anne blinked, taking that in for a moment before bursting into laughter, spilling some of her drink in the process. _God the day I fucking love someone will be the day I kill myself._ Kat took her laughter as an answer and changed the subject, "What about your tattoos?" _That_ took Anne by surprise, and she shot her friend a questioning glance. "What? Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Kat smiled slightly. "I may not _be_ a member of the mafia, but I'm around them enough to recognize mob tattoos when I see them."

Anne grinned despite herself, blowing a stream of smoke from her nostrils as she thought for a moment. "Ya wanna hear about all of 'em?" She quirked an eyebrow at Kat, who nodded eagerly in response. "Alright, _well_ , this is my most visible one." She pointed to the ОМУТ she had on the inside of her right middle finger. "Oт меня уйти трудно. Which means: ' _It is hard to get away from me._ '" She paused, running a finger over the black ink. "It's what they give to the best hitmen."

Kat looked vaguely impressed. "And what about that one behind your ear?"

Anne was surprised she had even noticed that, given that it was relatively small and pretty well concealed. "It's the anarchy symbol," she lowered her head and moved her tangled hair as she spoke, so that Kat could better see the circled 'A'. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

Kat actually laughed at that one, shifting in her seat as she moved closer. "That fits you _perfectly_ , you've always been such a chaotic bitch."

Even Anne grinned around her cigarette, winking. "Thanks, honey." She took another sip of her drink, feeling the warmth slide down her throat and into her stomach. "I have one on the back of my neck too," she turned around to allow Kat to see the upward-facing spider. "It means I'm an active criminal. If it faced down, it would mean I was retired." _I doubt that will ever fucking happen._

She told Kat about all of them: the star on her shoulder, the cross between her breasts (which was given to thieves), the Cyrillic spelling of 'Roulette' on her ribcage, the skull on her ankle (the Solntsevskaya Bratva's symbol), and the rather embarrassing Shakespeare quote she had on the inside of her thigh. She saved her favorite for last, however.

"It's on the outside of my thigh, just here," Anne pointed to her right side, tracing it's outline through her jeans. "It's the biggest one I have." It took up half her thigh, extending up to her hip.

"What is it?"

"It's a woman dancing with the devil." Alexei had laughed when she had shown him, asking if the devil was supposed to be him. _That_ had pissed Anne off to no end, annoyed that Alexei was presumptuous enough to think he meant that much to her. She had slapped him for his comment and gotten badly bruised in retaliation. In truth, the devil wasn't supposed to be anyone, it was more symbolic. _What_ it represented, however, Anne had no idea. Perhaps her lifestyle, perhaps the mob, perhaps herself. _Maybe it's the people I've killed._ She liked that idea quite a lot.

"That better not be prophetic," Kat squinted at Anne, but a smile was curling at the edges of her lips.

"Prophetic?"

Kat rolled her eyes. "Like a prophecy." Her expression turned teasing. "Your lack of formal education is really showing there, love."

Anne flipped her off for that. "Uh, fuck you." Taking a drag of her cigarette, she added, "But I have _no_ idea whatcha mean. We both know the devil's not real."

"Isn't he?" Kat locked eyes with her, and the two girls stared at each other for a long time, both mulling the same thing over in their heads. It was Anne who finally broke the silence, growing bored.

"Tell me about Rob, darling." It was somewhat of a command, but Kat appeared to take no issue with it. A smile immediately came over her face, making Anne grimace.

"He's the best," Kat gushed, "he's always really sweet and thoughtful." _A drug lord? I don't think so, sweetheart._ "And he's super smart, which I really like about him, he's not one of those common assholes who just goes around beating people up, he's actually got a brain. Which is why he's the boss."

Anne took all that in silently, wondering how long it would be until Rob hit Kat for the first time. It always happened, with the mafioso types. They were all too aggressive and controlling to ever let a woman they were dating do whatever she wanted. Eventually, Kat would say or do _just_ the wrong thing and then Rob would lose his temper. Anne knew better than anyone, she had spent her whole life around this type of man. Her father was a shining example, as was Alexei. She wondered if Kat knew this, deep down in her heart, or if she truly was stupid enough to believe she had found an exception in Rob.

Instead of voicing any of her concerns to Kat, who she would let find out the hard way, she instead said, "How old is he again?"

 _That_ brought a scowl to her friend's face. "It doesn't matter."

"How old?" She pressed.

Kat's gaze turned noticeably more hostile before she finally confessed, "Fifty-something, I think. I don't know the exact age."

Anne whistled at that, trying to do the math in her head to figure out whether or not Rob could be Kat's grandfather. _That would be fucking hilarious._ "That's quite the age difference, honey. Hate to break it to ya, but I think you've got some daddy issues you need to figure out." She sent a jet of smoke floating through the air, watching it dissipate in the light.

"Oh I'm not the only one, love." Kat sent her a knowing look, and Anne had to chuckle at the insinuation.

"Alexei isn't that much older than me, he's only 26. And besides, that wasn't really a choice." She swallowed the last of the vodka, closing her eyes and wishing the hangover would go away.

"Well-" Kat broke off as her cell phone began to ring. Furrowing her brow, the girl grabbed it out of her pocket and glared at the screen. "It's an unknown name and number."

"Ya best fucking answer it then, between you and me, that could be literally anyone with a rap sheet." Anne rested her head against the back of the couch, hoping it was someone interesting. "What if it's Clownface?" She shot a wide grin at Kat, who mouthed ' _shut up_ ' as she brought the phone up to her ear.

"Hello?" The girl raised her voice an octave, forcing a tremulous smile onto her face. Anne watched her expression carefully, trying to figure out who it was calling. She didn't have to wait long. "Oh, Pari," Kat's voice dropped once more, and she looked visibly relieved. "Yeah, hang on, she's right here." Kat handed the phone to Anne, muttering something about getting a new number.

"Pari!" The contract killer snatched her Marlboro out of her mouth, pasting a wide smile onto her face. "It's good to hear from ya, darling."

"Hey, Anne, I've got news about the earcom." Pari's tone was strangely resigned, and Anne wondered what part of this equation was making the girl uncomfortable. Was it Anne herself, the Joker, the task at hand, or the fact that Pari was caught up with mob troubles once more? Perhaps it was all of the above.

" _Fantastic_ , what is it?" She sucked at her cigarette, desperately trying to avoid the anxiety she knew was coming.

"I've been tracking the device, and it's remained stationary for about four hours now. I think the Joker has decided that's the place he wants to meet again." The sound of typing followed Pari's voice. "It's most likely a trap, but I assume you know this."

Anne chuckled. "It's definitely a trap. But that's fine." Smoke drifted in lazy swirls from her bare lips. "If he wants to play games, let's play."

She heard Pari sigh at that, and Anne immediately knew something irritating was coming. "Not that it's my place-" _Here it is._ "-but I think it's an awful idea to play _any_ game with this… man." At least Pari sounded half-apologetic for annoying Anne with her prattlings, Kat would never feel an ounce of regret for all the shit she yelled at the assassin.

"I'm counting on it, sweetheart." She tapped the excess ash off her cigarette onto the couch, much to Kat's chagrin. "Awful ideas are kinda my specialty."

Pari remained silent for a moment before saying, "Be that as it may, I still believe you should be careful." Anne didn't deign to respond to that, letting the silence stretch far past the point of uncomfortable before Pari hesitantly piped up once more. "Do you want the address now?"

"That would be _lovely_."

"1137 Wessex Street, it's in the Narrows." Pari paused. "You're going to kill him today, correct? I think this should be done as soon as possible."

The thought of killing the Joker still brought a twinge of fear into Anne's mind, but she ignored it for now, hoping by tonight she would be over her mental block. _You have to do it,_ she reminded herself. _Otherwise your life will be forfeit._

"I'll kill him tonight," Anne said, not knowing whether or not that was a lie. "I would go now but it'll be safer under the cover of darkness. And I need time to think of a plan." That much was true enough, and she knew Pari would agree with her reasoning. "As ya said, the Joker is a genius, I can't go flying into his trap blind."

"Tonight, then." A soft sigh came from Pari's end, and Anne braced herself once more for an irritating comment. "But remember, Anne, if this doesn't work, I'm done helping you. Consider this job my last favor to you, for all the protection you gave me from Falcone… But I just _can't_ do this anymore." Her voice became strained, and Anne wondered if she was about to cry. "I don't want to…"

"Don't wanna _what_?" She pressed, failing to keep the vexation out of her tone.

Pari hesitated, clearly realizing she had made a mistake by not guarding her tongue more carefully. "I don't want to…" Her tears had come, choking her as she tried to speak. "I don't want to become like _you_."

That brought a laugh to Anne's lips, surprised to find Pari thought she had even a _remote_ chance of ever resembling what the assassin had spent years devolving into. "Don't worry, darling," Anne began, her smile widening, "you'll never become like me."

Silence greeted her words as Pari presumably decided what to make of the statement, whether to take it as reassurance or narcissism. _Who said it: Anne the Friend or Anne the Killer? What would she think if she knew the two were the same thing?_

"I hope not," Pari finally responded, pulling herself together. "The girl I once knew and respected died in Russia." Anne snorted, smoke billowing from between her lips. She had heard expressions like that thrown around before. Her mother had told her something similar, long ago, right before she had entered into Falcone's service. She had pleaded with Anne not to do it, not to become a member of the mob like her father and brothers. Her mother had said that the man Tom Lynn had once been was long dead, and now he had become a monster in the flesh _because_ of the mob. She didn't want the same thing to happen to her daughter. Anne, for her part, could attest to the monstrosity of her father, she had scars and the memory of bruises to prove it, but she _couldn't_ attest to the fact that he had ever been anything else, so she hadn't believed her mother. People were all monsters, deep down, the fact that her father had once hid that aspect of his personality was of little consequence to Anne. The mob could provide her with money, protection, excitement, and an escape. She didn't care what became of herself in the process.

"Now, I'm afraid that everything which was once human inside you died with her as well." Pari's voice brought Anne back to the present conversation, and she shook her head, trying to erase the memory of her mother's tears. "I'm afraid you've become a monster."

 _No need to be so fucking dramatic._ "I kill people for a living, sweetheart." Her tone was flat, "I'm sure most people would call me an evil monster. But at this point, there's no fucking use crying over spilled milk."

"Alright, Anne," Pari sniffed, becoming more hostile as she took in the assassin's defiance. "Call me again tonight before you go so that I can confirm the earcom hasn't changed location. Use this number."

"Gotcha," she responded. "I'll talk to ya later."

"Bye." Pari hung up, leaving the sound of her barely-concealed rage lingering. Anne, the ghost of a grin pulling at her lips, handed the phone back to Kat.

"I think she hates me." She bared her teeth in what could've been considered a smile. "She's always so fucking angry."

Kat actually rolled her eyes at that, storing her phone away before replying. "Jesus, I wonder why?" Her question was clearly rhetorical, but Anne took it upon herself to answer anyway.

"I think she's mostly mad at herself for ever helping me, I think she realizes that this shit is all fucked up and she's angry she ever 'stooped to my level,' ya know, so to speak." Anne sniffed. "Pari'd be the type to believe all that shit society teaches you."

Kat looked incredulous. " _Morality_?"

"Yeah, that." She pointed in affirmation, setting her cigarette butt aside. "I'm not saying morality isn't necessary for society to function, I'm just saying that morality is kinda a joke. A really shitty joke too. Humans are the only living things capable of understanding morality, and yet we're the only ones who constantly fuck it up. I mean, think of all the awful things people have done in the name of morality."

Kat, who had listened in perfect silence, sighed as she responded. Her smile seemed sad. "Since when did you become a philosopher, love?"

It was a valid question, one which Anne had asked herself several times over the course of the past few years. Eventually she had stumbled upon the answer, which had been lying in the shadowy remnants of her past self, the one which still remembered her mother's smile.

"Since I started killing."

* * *

The car crept along the deserted streets of the Narrows, rumbling over potholes and debris alike as Anne craned her neck from behind the wheel, attempting to find a good place to park. She had stolen the car off some drunken man in Midtown Gotham, killing him for good measure before peeling away from the scene of the crime, violating several traffic laws in the process. She hoped her rather reckless driving hadn't attracted any unwanted attention; she didn't have time to deal with a police chase tonight. Not with the task at hand.

She had called Pari back two hours ago, confirming with the sullen girl that the earcom hadn't changed location - it hadn't. It would appear as though the Joker had decided this decaying corner of the city was where he wanted to meet Anne once more, and most likely attempt to kill her. That particular notion didn't terrify her as it should've (Anne had made her peace with death long ago), the only thing worrying her now was her uncertainty over her own resolve to kill _him_. She still wasn't sure if she could do it, if she could pull the trigger. Not because of any misplaced sense of empathy (any lingering trace of that undesirable emotion had been washed away the first time she had killed a child), but because of a deep, selfish desire that had begun snaking its way into her brain the first time the Joker had opened his mouth. Like the first hit that leaves you craving more, more, _more_. Anne had sensed in him something inhuman, almost divine, in the most grotesque way possible. She couldn't kill that. Who would she be if she killed the first person who had ever given her hope in her miserable existence? Hope of what, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was merely hope of something _more_ , something grander and less obsolete than whatever she had now. But it was hope all the same, and some innate part of Anne realized that the person who could give you hope, was the same person you owed your life to. _Like selling your soul to the Devil._

The appearance of 1137 Wessex Street stopped any further thoughts from Anne, who immediately swerved into the neighboring alleyway. She killed the engine before rummaging through her pockets and pulling out the tube of lipstick and eyeliner she had brought. Using the car's rear view mirror, she finished her makeup quickly, attempting to block out the thoughts which were creeping into her mind, whispering of how her signature look was reminiscent of the Joker's own clownface. _If my brain wants to shut the fuck up, I would greatly appreciate it._

She was wearing the same outfit as last night: boots, cargo pants, black shirt, and a ski mask. It didn't do much in the attractiveness department, but it was the most practical thing she had, and that was all that mattered to Anne right now. Storing her makeup away, she checked the magazine of her Glock, making sure it was full, before reassembling the gun and thrusting it into her shoulder holster. She had brought several of her knives as well, all hidden across her person, but had opted to leave the AK-47 at home, deciding it would be useless on this job.

She checked her reflection in the mirror one last time, taking in the empty, haunted face staring back at her. _I look half-dead._ It was true. Even with the ski mask on, the hollows underneath her eyes were unmistakable, as was the bloodshot gaze. _Maybe tonight the Joker will finish the job I've been trying to do for years._ That would be better, Anne knew. To finally die would seem like a mercy after living for so long with a brain that had leached her of everything.

With a sigh, Anne closed her eyes, allowing the darkness to wash over her. She tried to calm her racing nerves, realizing that anxiety would not be her friend in the task before her. She inhaled deeply, listening to the way her heart slowed it's pounding, responding to her. _Just kill him, it will be easier that way._ She nodded to herself, an act of inward encouragement. Then, feeling much better, she jumped out of the car, locking it and pocketing the keys for later.

Almost immediately, a voice greeted her from the opposite side of the alley.

"Hey, sweetheart, where are you going?"

Anne whipped around, grabbing her Glock and leveling it at the man approaching. He had a dumb, easy smirk on his unshaven face, walking with the arrogance of someone who had never had an introspective thought in their life. He didn't _look_ like someone the Joker would employ, however she couldn't be too careful.

"Do you work for the Joker?" She demanded, remembering her Russian accent. His brows knitting together gave her all the confirmation she needed.

"What the fuck are you-" But the bullet Anne placed in his heart cut him off. Her Glock didn't have a suppressor on it, as her rifle did, so the sound of the kill was deafening. _Jesus fucking Christ._ She rubbed her ears ruefully through the ski mask, glaring at the corpse. Then, storing her gun away once more, she looked up at the building where the earcom - and hopefully the Joker - was located.

She decided to enter through a window, thinking that the Joker had most likely set a trap for her at the front entrance. _He probably set a trap for me everywhere in this fucking place._ But, despite that ominous thought, Anne wasn't about to be deterred. She climbed onto the hood of her stolen car to give her a boost, before launching herself at the lowest windowsill she could find. She caught it in her grasp easily, the climbing gloves giving her the extra adhesion she needed.

She hoisted herself up further, feet scrambling at the crumbling brick as she managed to catch the second story windowsill. Gritting her teeth, she dragged her body upwards, inch by inch, until she had gained enough leverage to be able to see into the second window. She was shocked to find it open, an empty room stretching out before her gaze.

Confused, she pulled herself onto the sill, crouching down as she surveyed the scene before her, which was suspiciously devoid of anyone or anything. It was just a plain room. Feeling a prickle of unease, Anne grabbed her Glock, finding comfort in the harsh metal. _What the fuck is he playing at?_

Cautiously, she hopped down from the window, making sure to tread lightly. She kept her gun firmly in her grasp as she moved about the room, checking the corners for any sign of the earcom. Perhaps the Joker had no interest in meeting her again? Perhaps he had simply ditched the earcom in a random, abandoned building to throw Anne off? _Maybe I was completely wrong about him._

The crushing weight of that possibility began to set in, even as Anne turned to head up the staircase situated at the far end of the room. She couldn't give up hope yet, not when it was the first glimmer of anything positive she had felt in years. Tightening her fingers around her gun, she made her way across the room, resolving to search the entire building if she had to.

A noise behind her sent goosebumps along her arms, and she was given the distinct impression that she was being hunted. It was an unusual feeling for Anne, who was used to being the _hunter_ , not the prey. _Arkham was nothing compared to this silent hellhole._ Turning around slowly, she was rather surprised to find nothing behind her but empty air.

"I know you're here-" But her words were stopped by her own gasp as someone grabbed her from behind. She could immediately tell it wasn't the Joker, this man was too heavyset, and smelled wildly different. His thick arms wrapped themselves around her neck, while his hands grabbed at her Glock, trying to snatch it from her.

Enraged, Anne kicked him as hard as she could in the knee, struggling against his grasp, which was currently rendering her arms ineffective. The kick caused him to falter, and he loosened his grip just long enough for her to slip one of her hands free, shooting at his foot. The bullet hit its mark. Immediately, the man broke into screams, dropping Anne in the process.

She whirled around, lip hitched in a snarl as she glared at her assailant. He was chubby and shorter than Anne, wearing baggy clothing to hide his body, which reeked of sweat. Most importantly, however, he had a clown mask covering his face. _One of the Joker's men._ Anne was on him in an instant, using his foot injury to her advantage as she shoved him to the ground.

"Where's the Joker?" She snapped, aiming her Glock at him for added effect. She didn't bother with her accent, she knew this man wouldn't live to tell his tale.

"Please," he was whimpering, the sound of heavy sobbing coming from beneath the mask. "Please don't kill me. Please."

Her mouth tightened and she leaned down, pressing the hot barrel of her gun into his arm, listening in satisfaction as the skin sizzled and burned. "Just fucking tell me where your boss is!" She snarled, pulling the Glock back.

"I don't know," he managed between his moans of agony. "Please, I don't know where he is. Please, don't kill me."

Sighing in defeat, Anne forced a smile onto her face. "It's alright, honey, I believe ya." That appeared to calm him down, and he quieted, clutching at his foot as he rocked back and forth on the ground.

Anne straightened back up, readjusting her clothing for a moment before shooting the man between the eyes. As the blood poured out, staining his mask a deep crimson, Anne knelt beside the body and began searching it, trying to find any clue as to where the Joker was. She checked every pocket she could find, but came up with nothing, not even a weapon.

Disappointed, she stood up. _Why did the Joker send an unarmed man against me? He saw me take on both him and the Batman. He knows how good I am._ Shaking her head, she made her way to the staircase once more, checking over her shoulder for any other assailants before jogging up the stairs two at a time. She only got four steps up when her boot connected with a string.

"Oh fuck no." Anne cursed as she threw herself down the stairs, rolling as she hit the ground and immediately sprinting towards the window. She got halfway there before the bomb went off.

The force of the explosion sent her flying into the wall, debris raining down on her as she felt the entire right side of her body bruise on impact. Panting, she crouched down, keeping her head tucked in as she waited out the aftermath, chunks of ceiling and wall hailing down.

She sat there for five minutes before hesitantly looking up, making sure nothing was about to fall on her. When she decided it was all clear, she scooped up her Glock and proceeded to the giant hole which had been blown in the staircase. The bomb had taken out half of the stairs, as well as the surrounding walls. Despite the damage it had done, it had been a relatively small explosion, thankfully. Had the Joker wanted, he could've killed her just then. _So why didn't he?_ Maybe he hadn't been anticipating her reacting so quickly? But Anne found that hard to believe, the Joker was a genius and could probably outsmart her at every turn, it seemed more likely that he had intended for this explosion to scare her, or perhaps test her. What he was testing for, however, she had no idea. But it didn't bode well for what was to come.

Anne gave the gaping hole in front of her an appraising look before deciding that she could jump it, given she had a running start. Turning around, she walked back a few paces, then broke into a sprint, clearing the hole easily. As she caught her balance on the remaining stairwell, she heard a scuffle from up above. _Is it the Joker?_ At the thought, a tingle of excitement spread to her fingertips, and Anne quickened her pace.

She dashed up the rest of the stairs, placing her feet carefully as she kept an eye out for any other bombs or traps. Eventually, she came upon another room, almost exactly like the one she had just been in, except _this_ one had three men in clown masks standing in it. _Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me._ While she always liked a good fight, she doubted men like these would pose much of a challenge to her, which meant the killing would feel less like a thrill and more like a chore.

They must have heard her coming, because the moment she crested the last step they were charging at her. She barely had time to register that, once again, none of them had weapons, before her gun was being yanked out of her hands and thrown off to the side. _Okay, that's annoying._ Then, one of the men lunged at her, making a grab for her neck. With a roll of the eyes, Anne dodged him and dashed to the side, running up the nearest wall and flipping backwards, thinking that, when compared to fighting the Joker and Batman, _this_ felt like taking candy from a baby.

She landed lightly behind the men, yanking one of her knives out and jerking around the henchman nearest to her, plunging the blade into his belly the second he spun to face her. A grunt emitted from behind the clown mask and Anne felt a grin of satisfaction tugging at her lips as blood, warm and sticky, pulsed over her gloved hand. She waited a second more before ripping the knife up and out, leaving a deep, fatal gash in the man's stomach. He fell to the floor immediately as she let him go, gasping and clutching at his wound as the life leaked out of him.

Anne turned her attention back to the two remaining clowns, backing up a step before speaking, "I'll give you a chance to run." The Russian accent came easily, and she felt the persona of Roulette washing over her. "Run back to your boss, and I'll let you live." As she spoke, she reached down and pulled out a switchblade with her free hand. "Although, I can't promise that he will." She pressed a button on the hilt, and the blade, glinting and cruel, popped out with an audible _click_.

The two men exchanged a look, clearly hesitant, before returning their focus to her. "The Joker said we had to take you to him alive," one of them intoned, his voice uncertain. "Or die trying. We can't disobey him."

Anne shrugged, tensing up. "I guess you'll die trying." Then she was running at the men, falling back onto her hand at the last second and using her feet to sweep the legs out from under them, before twisting into a handspring. She landed on her toes, surveying them for a millisecond as she decided how best to kill them. Then it hit her.

While they were still regaining themselves, she jumped up, somersaulting in midair to add to her momentum, then landing on one knee in between their bodies, bringing her knives down into their hearts simultaneously. They batted at her feebly for a moment before going still, blood bubbling up around her blades as she tugged them out of the dying clowns. _Damn, that was fucking badass. I need to remember that move._

Panting, Anne stood up and pocketed the knives, gazing at the mutilated corpses around the room. The fact that none of the men had been given weapons confused her; the Joker had to know that psychos from the streets of Gotham wouldn't stand a chance against a Bratva hitwoman. _So then why did he just sacrifice four of his men?_ A sudden thought crept into her mind and she turned on her heel, shivering as she scanned the walls and ceiling for any sign of cameras. _Maybe he wants to watch me dance._ Maybe he did truly view her as just a doll to play with and discard at will, and maybe this was his version of playing. _I guess he wants to get some fun out of this 'Russian doll' before he throws her away._

As she checked for cameras, her eyes came upon a small table situated at the far end of the room, pointedly kept away from the light flooding through the windows. She could just barely make it out through the darkness. Checking over her shoulder one last time, Anne scooped up her Glock and made her way over to the piece of furniture, heart pounding away madly as all her senses strained, trying to make out any noise or movement which could be dangerous to her. Stepping carefully, she was on the table in no time, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the items on it.

Dominating the majority of the table was a vase of blood red roses, each one immaculate and in full bloom, filling the space around her with their sweet perfume. As she gazed at them she realized they still had their thorns, leaving the flowers beautiful but dangerous to the touch. A reluctant smile tugged at Anne's lips as she gently brushed the petals with her gloved hand, realizing that no store would ever sell individual roses with thorns still attached, which meant that the Joker had gone out of his way to pick these for her with a specific implication in mind. _How thoughtful of him._

It was then she noticed a small note attached to the vase, stuck to the glass with a piece of tape almost sliding off due to the condensation. She snatched it up immediately, her dirtied gloves leaving smears of blood where she touched the paper. Across the front, in a huge, scrawled script, was the word 'Doll', and Anne had a feeling it was the Joker himself who had written the letter. The idea sent a tingle up her spine, and she looked around the room one last time, almost certain at this point that he had hidden cameras somewhere, just to watch her. Maybe he was even in the building, merely waiting for her to do or say something…

"Are you there?" Her voice, made deeper with the put-on Russian accent, resonated strangely throughout the desolate room. "You should come out and speak with me, face to face. I think we would both enjoy that. Besides," her fingers lightly touched the roses as she spoke, "a true gentleman would give a girl flowers in person." When she finished speaking, she waited for a moment, straining to hear any unusual sound, hoping that the Joker would appear like a ghost out of the darkness. But nothing happened.

Disappointed, Anne turned back to the note in her hand, ripping it open. The actual letter itself was written in the same jagged, barely legible scrawl as the outside, and Anne wondered if that was how the Joker truly wrote or if he was merely doing it for dramatic flair. _He's even more of a drama queen than me if that's the case._ She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, he _did_ put on clown makeup and run around trying to undermine a man who dressed like a giant bat. _At least the Joker's costume makes sense, he's just a man trying to show everyone that society is the biggest joke ever told. What the fuck is Batman doing? Dressing up like a bat because…. bats are scary?_ She snorted at her own joke, rolling her eyes. _Flying Mammal Man needs to work on his social commentary._

Refocusing on the letter, she started to read. ' _Here's your little tracker back,'_ it began, and Anne peeled her eyes away from the note to glare at the table, where she finally saw the earcom. It was almost hidden behind the vase, tucked off to one corner and sitting on top of what appeared to be a joker card. Ignoring that for the moment, Anne continued reading. ' _Now that you've found me, it's my turn to find you! See you soon, doll. Hope you like the flowers.'_ It was signed ' _Mr. J'_ and underneath that he had included a P.S: ' _You have a very pretty kitty cat. Ha ha ha.'_

The last line took her aback, wondering what had prompted him to include the P.S. _He's not making a joke about my…? Is he? No, there's no way._ Shaking her head, she squinted at another part of the note, the one that mentioned how she had 'found him.'

"Found him?" She murmured aloud. "Oh," her eyes locked onto the joker card, "found him." Reaching down, she picked both the card and the earcom up, pocketing the earcom but holding the card up to the window for a moment, analyzing it. It appeared to be customized, as she had never seen any card deck use this particular design. The joker figure was drawn to resemble the devil, complete with tail and horns, with a jester hat on his head. Including this, he seemed to be clutching at his sides, bent over in either agony or laughter. _That's fucking fitting,_ she thought, her fingers brushing gently against her hip, where, underneath the pants, she had her own devil tattooed.

Grinning, Anne stored the card away, deciding she would be getting nothing but symbolism and metaphors from it. Then, slipping the note into a pocket and leaving the roses, she turned to the nearest window, preparing to jump out of it when it hit her. _Very pretty kitty cat_ , the words danced across her mind as she suddenly realized why the Joker had included them. _Oh my fucking god._ She stopped dead in her tracks. _He has Kat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: The Joker wants to test whether this 'cat' truly does have nine lives.


	6. Cat and Mouse

**Cat and Mouse**

" _But even still I can't say much because I know we're all the same,_

_Oh yes, we all seek out to satisfy those thrills._

_Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked…_

_Until we close our eyes for good."_

\- **Ain't No Rest For The Wicked** , Cage the Elephant

* * *

Panic enveloped Anne, her heart beginning to pound as her limbs went out from underneath her, sending her crashing to the ground. "Fuck, fuck, _FUCK_!" She screamed, pummeling the floor with her fists until her hands were sore. _If he so much as fucking scraped her, I'll rip his fucking throat out._

Swallowing her anger and fear, Anne hopped back to her feet, rushing to the nearest window and throwing it open. She wasted no time in climbing down the side of the building and racing to her stolen car, blood pounding in her ears as she started the ignition and zipped out of the alleyway, onto the streets of the Narrows. She had no phone on her, so she couldn't call Pari and tell her what had happened, but hopefully the girl was continuing to track the location of the earcom and would wonder why it was suddenly moving so rapidly. She had no idea how the Joker had even found out about Kat and where she lived. _Does that mean he knows who I am too?_ She doubted he did, unless Kat had let it slip. According to every government database in the world she didn't exist, she never had. Anne Elizabeth Lynn didn't have a birth certificate, a social security number, or a record of any kind. Her parents had made sure none of their children existed in the eyes of the government, which had led to at-home births, home schooling, and secret doctor visits, all to protect Anne and her brothers. _And to make us more appetizing to whatever mob boss our father wanted to sell us off to later._

Her lack of identity was what had finally convinced Carmine Falcone to accept her into his ranks as a contract killer and enforcer, after he had initially been hesitant on account of her sex and age. Originally, he had suggested to Anne's father that she work as a prostitute for the mob, saying she would be the most useful that way. Her father, however, had been adamantly opposed to the idea, and told Carmine that Anne had all the makings of a true killer, and, to sweeten matters, she didn't exist, so the police would never know who was doing the hits, even if she left DNA behind. Falcone had then relented and had Anne taken out to the Narrows, to test her resolve. There she had been told to kill a random passerby, which she did with such ease they joked that they had the first true female psychopath on their hands. When they found out that it wasn't the first person Anne had killed, they became even more astonished, given that she had been no older than 16 at that time. _They had no idea how far gone I really was…_

Anne was pulled from memory lane as she rounded a corner and Kat's apartment complex came into view. With a renewed sense of urgency, Anne sped up, parking the car in the backlot before sprinting to the fire escape. She scaled the metal stairs in record time, coming to Kat's window, only to see the disheartening sight of a broken latch. Gritting her teeth, she hopped into the apartment, pulling her Glock out as she did so.

Immediately, her gaze caught the dirty boot prints traipsing across the wooden floor of the living room. Surprisingly, other than that, hardly anything looked to be out of place, except for the pillows on the couch, which were strewn on the floor. It appeared as though Kat hadn't put up much of a fight. Perhaps she had been rushed unawares and knocked out before she could fight back. Either way, Kat clearly hadn't made enough noise for the neighbors to get suspicious, given that the apartment door was still locked firmly shut and there was no commotion coming from the hall or other rooms.

Seeing the vacancy of the apartment, Anne truly began to realize what had happened. Kat was gone, kidnapped by one of the most dangerous men in the world, with little chance of survival. _God fucking dammit! How the fuck did the Joker manage all this? No one is this smart._ With a muffled cry of rage, Anne kicked over the coffee table, cursing when her foot exploded in pain. Wondering how on earth she was going to rescue Kat _and_ kill the Joker, she made her way towards her room, keeping her gun tightly in her hands in case the Joker had left more henchmen here. As she walked, Anne checked both Kat's room and the bathroom, making sure there were no clowns hiding in either, before finally coming to her own room.

The door was closed. But, more importantly, someone had painted a huge smiley face on it, complete with black eyes and a red, dripping grin. Anne felt her heart drop to her stomach, feeling as though whatever was beyond the door couldn't be good. _Please don't be Kat's body, please, please, please._ Apprehension taking hold of her, she inhaled deeply before kicking open the door with a grunt, a newfound rage beginning to mingle with the fear. As the door flew open, she immediately hoisted her Glock upwards, scanning the room for threats. To her great surprise (and slight disappointment), she found none. Instead, she was met with the sight of a new note and damaged phone on her bed.

Closing and locking the bedroom door behind her, Anne ran over to the bed, shoving her gun back in its holster and snatching up the note. She could tell instantly that the Joker had not written this one, as the handwriting was too neat and legible. Expecting an elaborate explanation as to how the Joker had found out where Anne was living and why he had taken Kat, she was taken aback to find only the words ' _found you'_ followed by a phone number.

Intrigued, Anne picked up the phone which had been left on her bed, flipping it open and dialing the number with a shaky hand. Letting the note slip from her fingers, she brought the ringing phone up to her ear, feeling as though she was about to hear the Joker's voice again. _Just don't be fucking stupid this time,_ she told herself. _Don't let him get into your head._ But another, larger part of her felt that same, sneaking excitement creeping into her body as she had felt standing outside of his cell door last night. Her anger, and even fear, were still there, underneath the surface, but they had both been largely replaced by the pounding of her heart at the idea of getting to speak with the Joker again. _He said I was looking for more. Is he about to offer me the 'more'?_

The phone picked up on the other end, then… _nothing_. Anne stood there for a moment, wondering if she should speak, wondering if perhaps the Joker was waiting to see if it was really her on the line. After what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence. "Hello?"

"Oh, it's _so_ good to hear from you!" The sudden sound of the Joker's voice sent a jolt through Anne, who was surprised at how genuinely gleeful he sounded. She suspected he was languishing in the pain and fear he was causing her, joyfully seeking vengeance against the woman who had almost killed him.

"Where's Kat?" She demanded, cutting straight to the point.

The Joker chuckled at her tone, the noise as menacing as it was casual. "You can, uh, _drop_ the accent. I know you're not… _exactly_ Russian." He almost sounded regretful, in a mocking sort of way. Anne's eyes went wide as she realized the implications of what he had just said. _How does he know what my real voice sounds like? Did he manage to bug me somehow? Did Kat say something?_

"Ya know," he ploughed on, taking advantage of her silence, "you _almost_ had me convinced. I thought you really were Russian, but..." His voice dropped an octave, becoming a growl. "Now the _cat's_ outta the bag." The meaning behind his words didn't go unnoticed by Anne, who clenched her teeth as he continued. "What I _do_ find, ah, _funny_ , is how a girl - a girl from _Gotham_ managed to get caught up with the Bratva. Hmm?"

Anne took this as her cue to respond, and grudgingly dropped the accent. "Ya find it funny?" A grin came unbidden to her face, not one born from happiness, but rather one which she imagined a wolf who had just cornered it's prey would get, could it smile. "It _is_ a bit of a joke. I could tell it to ya, if you wanted. Just tell me where Kat is."

" _Ah-ta-ta-ta_." The Joker's words themselves sounded almost playful, but Anne heard the distinct warning beneath them: _Don't push your luck, kid._ Clearly, she had been correct in assuming that a man like the Joker enjoyed little games such as these, it had to be the reason Anne was still alive despite numerous opportunities for him to have her killed. He must've found her _at least_ interesting enough to keep playing with, prodding at her to see what hurt and what didn't. And now that he had found where it hurt the most, the game had suddenly become _much_ more fascinating for him. But that didn't mean Anne couldn't ruin it by pushing too hard. If she didn't play her part exactly right, she had a feeling he would end the game, and end it brutally at that.

"Not so fast, doll." The Joker's voice broke through her train of thought, and goosebumps began to erupt along her arms. "You can't forget this, uh… _lit-_ tle game of _hide-and-seek_ we're playing, can you? I mean, I found _you_ ; it's your turn to find _me_." His emphasis on the last word seemed to add an air of mocking to his tone, something Anne assumed only the Joker was capable of doing with such poignancy. "Now, see, I'm a _charitable_ guy, so tell ya what? I'll send some _friends_ to help." Despite the seemingly benign statement, there was something clearly sinister beneath it all, ingrained in the Joker's voice and being. "Be outside the back of your apartment building in ten minutes. You'll be picked up there."

"And when I find ya," Anne interjected, "will it actually be you?" She reached into her pocket and withdrew the joker card, her eyes falling on the devil. "Last time, it was just a poor copy. Nothin' like the original."

The Joker actually laughed at that, the noise unobtrusive and almost quiet, leading Anne to believe it was genuine. "Oh, it'll be me." His tone made her fingers itch for the Glock. "And the… pretty little _cat_ might join us too. If you're, ah, good- _uh_." He emphasized the last syllable, drawing out the letter with the air of someone mocking a child.

Anne had to fight the impulse to ask if he had hurt Kat, knowing that if she inquired she would be showing her hand completely. By pointedly refusing to ask after the girl's wellbeing, she was hopefully sending a message; she could only pray that the Joker didn't see through her calculated apathy. "It's a date, then." She grinned, gaining a sense of faux control through the act of flirting. It was a move she utilized frequently; if she flirted with the man, she had control. _One day I'll discover what deeply unstable mental issue that stems from._

Snorting, the Joker responded, "Don't bring any weapons." It appeared he was ignoring Anne's little addition to the conversation. "If ya _do_?" His tongue made a clicking noise, "Welllll, I don't think this cat has, uh, _nine lives_."

A surge of anger shot through Anne at the Joker's threat. Not only was she incensed at the mention of Kat's death, she also hated the insinuation that Clownface wasn't worried about her retaliation, should he truly murder her friend. "Neither do you," she growled.

A cackle erupted into Anne's ear, high pitched and erratic. "Empty threats don't suit you, _doll_." Still giggling to himself, the Joker added, "Ten minutes, no weapons." Then the line went dead.

As the silence enveloped her, a sudden feeling of dread began to pool into her stomach. She had underestimated the Joker, there was no way around it. Anne had gotten far too cocky while in Russia, she had forgotten what it was like to be truly challenged. _Leave it to Gotham to hand my ass to me._ Perhaps Kat had been right, perhaps Anne really should leave the Bratva and go into hiding, she had the money and resources for it. It would all be so much simpler. _Yeah, but fuck simpler._ She hadn't spent her entire life searching for a purpose only to abandon the search when things got a little hard. Besides, she had a feeling deep within her that she had finally found the purpose. Now, all she had to do was figure out what it was.

Mind made up, Anne threw down the phone and began stripping all her weapons off. When she got to her Glock, she hesitated. There was no way she could hide it on her person without the Joker seeing it, and she didn't doubt for a moment he would kill Kat should he find her with a gun. Still, Anne rarely ever went into a dangerous situation without it; it was her right hand man in a way. "You're gonna have to sit this one out, buddy." Ejecting the magazine and emptying the chamber, she set her Glock aside reluctantly.

Pulling her shoulder holster off as well, Anne adjusted her ski mask and headed back out into the living room. She grabbed a new pack of Marlboros as she went, passing by a candle and using the wick to light one. Then, she jumped out the window and onto the fire escape, climbing down as fast as she could.

She reached the parking lot behind the apartment complex in no time, leaning against the crumbling brick of the building as she smoked and waited. She still felt as though the shock of the entire situation hadn't quite set in. Of course she knew the gravity of it all; Kat being in the Joker's clutches was about the worst thing that Anne could imagine at the moment, but for some reason she was still numb to the idea. Perhaps she was merely repressing all the ugly emotions and waiting to drink and smoke them away. The anger, sadness, fear, and uncertainty were a potent mix that could only be extracted in full with the help of liquor and coke, addling Anne's brain just enough to allow the insanity to spill out.

And yet, she still felt some semblance of the unpleasant emotions creeping into her belly as she stood there, inhaling the stale smoke from her cigarette and watching the embers catch against the velvet night. Inadequacy took the most prominent position in her mind, as she reviewed just how weak she truly was. Everyone who had ever doubted her abilities as a woman in the mob had been right. In a small way perhaps, but still, it was enough to send her spiraling down a path of self-loathing. Her constant hunt for that intangible _more_ had proven her worst enemy this time. By believing, even for a moment, that she had suddenly found what she had been looking for in the Joker, Anne had dug her own grave. Now, she was under the clown's control and, therefore, of no more use to the Bratva. _They'll try to kill me, Mikhas would rather die than let me leave peacefully. And, better yet, the Joker will probably try to fucking murder me too._

The sound of a distant siren pulled Anne back to reality, and she refocused on her surroundings, immersing herself in the atmosphere of Gotham. She hated the city, she always had, but even she had to admit it had a certain beauty about it at night. The lights from the skyscrapers burned against the darkness, making the moon and invisible stars seem dull by comparison, and even the sounds of humanity seemed pleasant when masked by the nighttime. Anne preferred humans at night, it was when everyone's inner self came out to play, aided by drugs and alcohol and anonymity. There was something about the hours after the sun went down that awakened the untamable in people, allowing them to be free for a moment. Humans were simply more _human_ at night. And Anne, for one, loved it.

It was only a few minutes later when a white van finally pulled up, long after her cigarette had burnt out. The vehicle stopped a few feet in front of Anne, and a man hopped out of the passenger seat. He wasn't wearing a clown mask, but had a ragged look to him, appearing to be only a little older than Anne herself. He gave her a hesitant once-over before speaking up.

"You the girl?" The man's face scrunched up as he continued inspecting her, doubtless checking for any obvious weapons.

"What do ya think, darling?" She smiled at him behind the ski mask, pushing off from the wall she had been leaning against. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out the Joker's card, showing it to the man for verification.

He glanced at it before giving a curt nod. "What else is in your pocket?" His gaze refocused on her cargo pants, glaring at the bulge produced by the pack of Marlboros.

"Cigarettes," Anne pulled them out, "want one?" She held them up in offering, but the man merely shook his head, turning back to the driver.

"I'm pretty sure it's her." He lowered his voice as he spoke, as though Anne wasn't literally a foot away from him and could hear every word. The driver grumbled something back, putting the van into park and jumping out of the vehicle as well. Anne watched their movements carefully as she stored the Marlboros and joker card away once more. She didn't fail to note that the driver was holding a gun.

"Arms out," the original man growled at her. "I gotta check for weapons."

"You're not putting your hands on me, honey." Anne's tone was mockingly apologetic, but her jaw clenched at the very insinuation. The Joker was welcome to check, but not the wacko henchmen he had found in Gotham's gutters.

"That wasn't a fucking question." He grabbed at her then, just as the driver came to stand next to Anne, his gun pointed directly at her.

As he reached for her arm, rationality left Anne's mind, blood boiling in anger at the man's presumption. She side-stepped, driving her elbow into the man's face and hearing a satisfying crunch as it connected with his nose. Using the momentum from the blow, she dove into the driver, forcing his gun upwards as her knee planted in his groin. Doubling over in pain, the driver dropped his weapon, and Anne caught it, realizing it was a Glock and grinning to herself. Immediately, she backed out of reach of both the men, raising the gun as they slowly regained themselves.

"Try to grab me again and I'll blow your fucking brains out." Anne's lip hitched into a snarl as she glared at the two men, her finger straying to the trigger, inwardly weighing the pros and cons of putting a bullet in their heads. Her decision was made for her, however, when the back of the van opened and five more henchmen jogged out, all carrying various guns. _Oh, fuck me._

" _Drop it_!" One of them snapped, stepping closer. Sucking on her teeth in irritation, Anne reluctantly dropped the Glock, deciding that her chances of taking on seven men (five of whom had guns) and surviving were not good. As the driver scrambled to reclaim his gun, she lifted her hands above her head, realizing she may have misstepped by losing her temper. This realization was only further proven when the man she had elbowed straightened back up and launched a punch at her face.

Knowing better than to retaliate or attempt to block it, Anne merely turned her head to the side, moving with the punch to avoid breaking her nose. Still, it hurt like hell, and she felt her front tooth cut into her lip as her ears rang from the impact. Stumbling backwards and clenching her jaw to prevent any noises of pain escaping, she barely realized that the same man was spitting on her until a glob of salvia hit her face. Anger rushed into her blood at that, but she forced herself to swallow it, instead returning the man's malicious glare full-force as he finally patted her down, checking for weapons. _I'll kill you for that,_ she thought.

"She's ain't packing anything." The man turned to the driver, who had been pointing his gun at Anne with a clenched fist ever since her outburst. "Take her." At his word, two men grabbed her by the arms, muscling her into the back of the van. Three more henchmen scrambled in after them, before closing the doors and banging on the roof. The second the vehicle lurched forward, Anne was released, everyone apparently determined to pretend she wasn't there as they took up seats on the van's benches. This suited Anne just fine, who found her own spot in the corner and hunkered down for the ride, purposely ignoring the blood dripping down her lip.

The ride itself couldn't have lasted more than fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity to Anne, whose mixture of dread and excitement pooled potently in her stomach. She was, of course, somewhat thrilled at the prospect of seeing the Joker again, but a larger part of her felt a deeply rooted fear at the unknown fate of Kat. What had the Joker done to her? Was she even still breathing? What would happen if Anne said or did _just_ the wrong thing? Anne hadn't even bothered to ask the Joker whether Kat was alive, she had merely counted on the clown keeping her around as a bargaining chip, but now that she thought about it harder, she realized that the Joker was definitely smart enough to see the only bargaining chip he needed at the moment was Anne's clear interest in him. Maybe he had killed Kat, or was planning on killing her when Anne arrived, just to see her reaction. _Just to watch as he breaks me._

Her fear and anxiety only grew as it finally registered with her that so much depended on Anne having correctly surmised that the Joker liked playing games. Of course, the fact that he hadn't armed any of his henchmen at Wessex Place lended to that theory, but it wasn't enough for Anne to be sure. She didn't pretend to know anything that went on in Clownface's head, from what she had found in her research, his motives tended to be purely rooted in chaos and anarchy, which, on top of making him the most interesting man she had ever met, also made him the most unpredictable. _No matter what, there's a good chance I'm heading to my death._ That thought didn't worry her, it was almost comforting, given her current situation. It was the other possibility that scared her far more: maybe she _wasn't_ heading to her death. Maybe the Joker didn't want her dead just yet, in which case her life was about to get a good deal harder than it already was. Of course she _wanted_ the Joker's attention, but it was the same type of desire that she felt for cocaine or liquor. A destructive desire. It didn't take a genius to tell that the attention of a man like the Joker was never a good thing.

When the van finally rolled to a stop, Anne was grabbed by the henchmen once more, blindfolded, and handcuffed. It wasn't her first time being blindfolded, and it was _far_ from her first time being handcuffed, but the sensation of losing her two best assets still disgruntled her. The blindfold was particularly disorienting, as she was used to relying on her eyesight in dangerous situations. Even the handcuffs were more irritating than usual, given that they were plastic, as opposed to the metal ones, which Anne was adept at lock-picking. She could do nothing to get out of the plastic ones without a sharpened object, which the Joker had made sure she didn't have.

A gust of cold air told Anne the backdoors had been opened, and suddenly she was being shuffled out of the vehicle with a mixture of unceremonious yanks and shoves. When she reached the edge of the van's floor, someone grabbed her roughly around the waist and set her down onto what felt like pavement. Then the shoving continued, as Anne was led across asphalt and cement for several minutes before being abruptly stopped and ordered to stand still.

As she waited, her ears strained for any sound of Kat, any indication that she was nearby. But she heard nothing except the gruff breaths and murmuring of the henchmen. _For someone who just broke out of jail, the Joker found henchmen really fucking fast._ Once again it hit Anne how severely she had underestimated the man's capabilities, and overestimated her own.

A sudden hush fell over the henchmen surrounding her, and the pounding of Anne's heart increased as the hair on the back of her neck rose. She knew exactly what the abrupt silence meant. Through the stillness, she could hear a slight shuffling, the noise of someone walking with a deliberate gait, steadily gaining on her. Every instinct in her body told her to sprint away, while at the same time, the destructive, nagging voice in the back of her mind urged her to run headlong into the noise. The paradoxical effect of the two desires left Anne feeling lightheaded with emotion, and she had to use all the strength in her body not to tremble as the footsteps crept closer.

Then, she detected the presence looming directly behind her, felt the breath stirring her hair, and heard the rustle of fabric as the Joker raised his arm, reaching up to undo the blindfold tied over her ski mask. When it fell away, Anne blinked against the sudden surge of light, head whipping from side to side as she assessed the situation. Immediately, she could tell that she had been taken to a parking garage, in what appeared to still be Midtown Gotham, given the quality of buildings around her. Unfortunately, Kat was nowhere in sight; neither was the Joker for that matter, as he was still standing directly behind her in the deadly quiet.

"Are ya gonna take the handcuffs off me too, _Mr. J_?" Anne's question prompted him to wander into full view.

He was in complete makeup, his scars smeared with a red paint the same shade as Anne's lipstick. His hair, falling in greasy strands, also appeared to be freshly dyed green. She could even see the small bump and cut from where she had pistol-whipped him last night. The only disparity between this version of him and the version she had studied so thoroughly in Russia was the suit. Apparently, the Joker hadn't had enough time to find his usual purple three-piece, because he was dressed in normal, black slacks and an oversized sports jacket, complete with a striped button-up and ludicrously flamboyant socks. Even his leather gloves were black, as opposed to the standard purple. Still, it was enough to make Anne grin against her will.

He raised his blackened brows at the question. "I _take_ it you got my note?"

"Uh huh." She fought the urge to step backwards, instead sending the Joker a wide smile, one which did not meet her eyes. "And the roses." As she spoke, Anne turned her head to look behind her, counting the number of henchmen, before returning her focus to the clown. "Thanks, by the way. Clearly, you're… _quite_ the gentleman."

The Joker's eyes lit up with malicious amusement as his tongue flicked out, licking at the puckered scar on his bottom lip. "Well, I _try_." He spread his hands in emphasis, and Anne suddenly noticed the knife he was holding. Her mouth went dry. "And, as for your, uh... _first_ question?" He skirted around her, coming to stand at her back once more. Fear flooded Anne, and she tensed her legs, preparing to fight should the Joker attack her, when she felt the plastic handcuffs being cut away from her wrists. " _Yes_." He growled into her ear.

Anne's eyebrows raised as she brought her hands in front of her, rubbing where the plastic had dug into her skin. The Joker walked back around, stopping a foot away as Anne readjusted her gloves and ski mask. When she finally refocused on him, she was rather shocked to find how close he truly was. She could see the sweat beads dripping down his forehead, the pores being exacerbated by the grease paint, and the long, brown lashes which were usually swallowed by the black around his eyes. It was almost shocking, in a way, to see the signs of a man on someone who reminded Anne more of a god.

Swallowing and tearing her focus away from his face, she managed to find her voice. "Ya got a lighter?"

 _That_ made him pause, brow furrowing as he narrowed his gaze at her. Pointedly ignoring this, Anne reached into her pocket and withdrew the Marlboros, taking one out and placing it between her bloodied lips. Holding it there with her teeth, she took her time raising her eyes to meet his, her face expectant. Wordlessly, and with a look that Anne couldn't quite quantify, he rummaged around in his coat, eventually producing a dented lighter. Then, before Anne could take it from him, he flicked the ignition and brought the flame up to her face, grabbing her jaw with his other hand, the one holding tightly onto his blade. It took Anne approximately a second to realize, between the fire and the knife, she was utterly fucked.

At her obvious panic, a smirk began to curl at the edges of the Joker's mouth, his fingers digging into her face with a bruising ferocity. There was nothing Anne could do but hold her breath and lock gazes with the man, refusing to look at the knife pressing into her cheek or the lighter blazing an inch away from her mouth. They stood there, in limbo, for what felt like an eternity, Anne all the while painfully aware of how easily the Joker could hurt her in an instant, if he wanted. _Does he want to hurt me?_ Of course, the Joker was undoubtedly a sadist who enjoyed tearing people apart in whatever way he could, but Anne wanted to know specifically about herself. Did the Joker feel more or less inclined to hurt her than he did others? And in what ways did he want to hurt her? _How would you tear me apart, Mr. J?_

Suddenly, his hand moved and Anne attempted to pull away, terrified. However, he merely lit her cigarette and stepped back, chuckling softly to himself as he stored the lighter away. Shaking, Anne inhaled the smoke deeply, trying to calm her unsteady breaths as she reached a tentative hand up and touched where the Joker's knife had ripped her ski mask. She hadn't even realized how close the blade had gotten to her skin.

"Ya see," the Joker's voice reverted back to it's high-pitched erraticism, and Anne, still shaken in more ways than one, didn't bother looking up at him. He didn't like that. " _Hey_!" His tone became harsh as he grabbed at her face once more. " _Look at me!_ " There was a quiet but potent irritation behind his snarl this time, and Anne had no choice but to comply, finding his gaze with something resembling fascination in her own eyes.

Satisfied, he continued, "Ya _see_ ," he looked up to the ceiling as he spoke, pretending to search for his words, "I feel a little bit hur _t_." He held up his thumb and forefinger to show exactly how much a 'little bit' was. "You _know_ what I look like… and my _name_." His tongue shot out again, wetting the corner of his mouth and flashing yellow teeth. "But _I_ don't know, uh, _anything_ about you." At this blatant lie, the Joker grinned, finally relinquishing his hold on her face.

Anne opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, thinking hard on what she was about to do. If she told the Joker her name, even just her alias, he would be able to do some research of his own, and that, combined with his intellect, would give him a deeper insight into Anne than she was comfortable with _anyone_ having, let alone someone like him. And if she showed him her _face_ too, then he would be able to recognize her wherever she went, which didn't sit well with Anne either. Her anonymity was her greatest asset, and if she relinquished it to the man who was supposed to be her mark, she would essentially be admitting to herself that she would never be capable of killing the Joker. _Am I ready to admit that?_ She blinked, snatching the cigarette out of her mouth. _Yes._

With one fluid motion, she ripped the ski mask off and smoothed down the stray hairs which had come loose of her ponytail. The Joker's eyes immediately got a dangerous gleam in them as he took in her features, and Anne wondered whether it was her youth or looks giving him that glint. Either way, she had a feeling she had just become a far more interesting play thing.

" _There_ you are, doll _face_." He purred out, baring his teeth in what Anne figured was meant to be a smile.

"I'm Roulette," she corrected him, noticing how his features turned noticeably darker at her words. Sucking at the inside of his scars, the Joker twisted his face into a look of mocking shock before responding.

" _Russian Roulette_." He snickered, the noise sending shivers down Anne's spine. Seeming to notice her reaction, the Joker's grin became distinctly more sadistic. He took the opportunity to circle around her, sizing her up as he walked. "Do ya play?"

Anne held her ground, refusing to try and keep the man in her eyesight. "I came here, didn't I?" She felt breath, warm and soft, stirring her ponytail.

"Mmm," the Joker hummed from the back of his throat. "And, uh, what was that, _Roulette_? Loading the gun or pulling the trigger?" He came back into her line of view, his black eyes fixing her with an inescapable intensity. _The eyes of a predator cornering his prey._

"Well, _Mr. J_ ," she tilted her head back as the Joker stalked ever nearer, "I think that entirely depends on what you do next." She brought her cigarette up to her lips once more, taking a long drag. The smoke slipped in between the two, forming a hazy curtain across the clown's lurid face. She saw him smile from behind it.

With a careless motion the Joker signaled to his henchmen, who disappeared into a room off to the side of the parking garage. Realizing Kat was most likely about to emerge, Anne took a steadying breath, shoving her ski mask into her pocket. As her hand pushed into the fabric she felt a small, hard ball within the folds of the pants. _Oh my fucking god you're kidding me. How could I forget about that?_ It was the earcom. _It must've been too small to notice when the man patted me down._

Fighting hard to contain her sudden excitement, Anne slowly, consciously, swept her finger across the surface of the earcom, feeling for the tiny on-off button. When she found it she clicked it as quickly as she could before yanking her hand out of the pocket, thanking God that the Joker had not been focused on her in that moment. He was too preoccupied with the two henchmen he had sent into the room, who were now reemerging, dragging a bound and gagged Kat behind them.

The sight of Kat incapacitated like that sent a flood of anger into Anne's veins, but she was able to contain it now that she knew Pari could hear everything that was happening. She had faith that the girl would hopefully be sending help soon. Anne just had to buy herself time.

"Here's your, ah, kitty cat," the Joker returned his focus to Anne, snickering as he grabbed her arm with bruising fingers and yanked her towards Kat, who was now kneeling on the concrete between the two henchmen. "Isn't she pret- _ty_? I can see why you like her." He let go of Anne then, instead grasping Kat's face and forcing her to look up at the contract killer, who wanted nothing more than to punch the Joker in that moment.

Kat was purple and blue from bruises, her swollen eyes leaking tears as she gazed up at Anne, who felt a renewed sense of anger at her friend's pain. _Does the Joker really think I'll let him get away with this? Who the fuck does he think he's fucking with here?_

"Why'd you take her?" Anne demanded, refocusing on the Joker. "Did you want my attention that bad?"

"It's, uh, bad _ly_ ," He corrected almost immediately.

" _Huh_?" Anne couldn't believe what she was hearing, it was so absurd she felt the corners of her lips twitching upward.

"'Did you want my attention that _badly_ ,'" he quoted back at her, exaggerating every word as though she were a child just learning how to enunciate. Below her, she heard Kat make a muffled noise which sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "And, ah, _no_. Your dear kitty cat is here because of _you_ , Roulette." Anne's brow furrowed at that, causing the Joker to elaborate. "What did ya think would happen when you came after me... _hmm_?" He raised his brows and tucked his lips in, his face contorting into a look of mocking curiosity. "Did ya think I would take it lying down? That I would just ' _let it go_ ' because you didn't have the - have the _balls_ to pull the trigger?" He stepped closer, one hand coming up to grab Anne's jaw, the other snatching the cigarette from her lips and tossing it over his shoulder. "This is _my_ city, dollface." His voice was a predatory growl, "You play by my rules."

With that, he let go of Anne, fishing a revolver out of his pocket and checking the chambers before handing it to her. She took it, a sense of relief flooding through her veins at the feeling of a gun in her hand. She had a sneaking suspicion, however, as to why the Joker was suddenly handing her a weapon, and one check of the chambers confirmed it. There was only one bullet. _He wants me to play Russian roulette._

Anne snorted derisively, pushing the cylinder back into the revolver, "Ya want me to play, huh?" Her gaze found the Joker, who was staring at her with an inescapable intensity. "I guess I was loading the gun when I came here, then." Her finger slipped along the metal. "Now I'm pulling the trigger."

The Joker chuckled at that, the noise coming from deep in his chest. "I want you and the, uh, _kitty cat_ to play. And whoever _wins_?" He cocked his head to the side, and Anne saw something akin to excitement stir within him. "I've got a… surprise for them." He must've seen the fear growing in her, because he began giggling uncontrollably. " _You_ , uh, chose to gamble with your lives," he pointed to both Anne and Kat, who was still kneeling with tears streaming down her face. "So _now…_.?" He looked to Anne expectantly, like a teacher would to a young student.

"Now we play by your rules," she finished, to which the Joker nodded, eyes crinkling in joy at her obvious submission. A sudden anger surged through Anne, and she brought the revolver up to her head, placing the cool, metal barrel against her temple. The feeling was far from unfamiliar to her, she had played Russian roulette so often in the Bratva a gun to her head invoked as much fear as a kitten now. She hoped the Joker could see how little it affected her, how little she cared for her own life. Doubtless he already knew, but Anne still hoped the blind, numb bravery would impress him in some small way.

"'Cause it's your city, right?" She stepped closer to him as she spoke, lowering her voice but keeping the revolver firmly planted against her head. She was running out of time, she didn't know how Pari was sending help, but she was sure the girl was. If not for Anne's benefit, then for Kat's. Pari was never one to let an innocent die.

Looking the Joker dead in the eyes, Anne pulled the trigger. _Nothing._ She was almost sure she saw something pop into the Joker's face at her failure to die, but she couldn't be sure. "Bummer," she murmured, smiling at the clown before turning back to Kat.

This was going to be harder, Anne could already tell. Kat was still crying softly, and when the contract killer came to stand before her, she saw a renewed fear blossom into the girl's face. Kat shook her head desperately, quivering as she tried to say something. However, the gag muffled her, and Anne couldn't even begin to make it out. "It'll be fine," she whispered to her friend, widening her eyes in emphasis. Kat didn't look reassured, she just kept shaking her head, gaze glued to the revolver.

" _Shh_ ," Anne hissed, annoyance racing across her mind as she realized how little the girl truly trusted her. _Does she really think I didn't count the chambers?_ Sighing inwardly, Anne knelt down, becoming level with Kat as she gradually raised the barrel of the gun to her friend's forehead, pressing the cold metal into her flesh with a callous hand.

This finally forced Kat to refocus on Anne, her watery gaze staring straight into the contract killer's deadpan face. Not wanting to draw it out any longer, Anne cocked the gun and pulled the trigger so quickly Kat barely had time to flinch. After the initial realization passed, her friend's tears redoubled, this time presumably out of relief.

"See, honey?" Anne patted Kat's cheek, taking the gun away and giving her a grin. "I told ya it would be fine." She stood back up, winking to her friend before turning to face the Joker once more. Now, things were about to get _much_ more interesting. The next chamber was full, which meant if Anne pulled the trigger with the gun to her head, she would blow her brains out. Doubtless, the Joker knew this too, because a distinctly malevolent smile spread across his face as Anne closed the distance between them, the revolver placed against her temple.

 _Have I given Pari enough time to send help?_ She wondered as she came to stand before Clownface, her heart rate elevating as it always did when she was in close proximity with him. _It's been what… ten minutes? That should be enough for a genius like her. She's a quick problem solver, right?_ Anne prayed she wasn't overestimating Pari, as her hastily concocted escape plan would only work if the girl had sent help in one form or another. Anne would even take the police at this point, if only so they would provide enough of a distraction to allow her and Kat to slip away unnoticed.

"You're, uh, gonna have to pull that trigger sooner or later, doll." The Joker's voice ripped Anne back to reality and she fixed him with a wide grin before responding, her gaze never breaking away from his black, pinprick pupils.

"I know, sweetheart," she pulled the hammer back as she spoke, eyes checking the ceiling one last time. "'Cause it's your city and all that? We're playing by your rules?" Her smile grew larger as she inched nearer to him, watching the way his eyes narrowed at her closeness. "Only, I was under the impression Gotham belonged to someone else?" The Joker cocked a brow at that, a hint of anger beginning to seep into his features as she dared to contradict him. At the silent prompt, Anne clarified, satisfaction flooding through her veins as she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. " _Batman_." Grinning like a madwoman, she pointed the barrel of the gun towards the overhead light and shot. There was a deafening _bang_ and then the world went dark.

Almost immediately the Joker began laughing, his high pitched cackle echoing through the parking garage and sending chills up Anne's spine. Hearing his jacket rustle and remembering how close he was to her, she hit the floor, feeling a burst of air above her as she ducked his punch. _Asshole_ , she snarled inwardly, kicking out blindly in retaliation as she heard the henchmen holding Kat cry out in what sounded like pain.

Her foot connected with the Joker's legs and he came tumbling down, partially on top of her. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Panic flared into Anne as she tried to scramble to her feet in the darkness, out of reach of the clown. She was too slow however, the Joker managed to grab a hold of her arm and drag her back down, somehow orienting himself so that he was pinning her to the garage floor.

"Oooh, you _are_ fun, dollface," he growled. His voice, turned deep and guttural, was unsettlingly close to her face. "But you're no _t_ playing by the rules." His emphasis on the ' _t_ ' sent spit droplets flying into Anne's face and she scrunched her nose in disgust, even as some part of her relished how close the Joker was.

"Fuck rules," she spat, struggling in vain against the clown's weight. "They take the fun outta everything."

" _Mmm_ ," the Joker giggled, his tone returned to its normal, high-pitched erraticism. "Maybe there is, ah, hope for you after all."

Without warning, a door to the side of the garage was ripped open, allowing light to flood in. Blinking against the new brightness, Anne inhaled sharply as her gaze found the Joker mere inches away from her face. The shock, and even the fear, melted away almost instantaneously however, and she found herself laughing against her will, taking in the absurdity of the situation.

"Oh, Mr. J," she finally murmured, slowly inching her way into a more advantageous position, "I think it's fair to say there's no hope for me at all." Then, with one last smile, she shoved her knee upwards as hard as she could, feeling it connect with the Joker's groin. With a grunt, he loosened his grip on her just enough that Anne could hop to her feet, her gaze finding Kat in no time.

Thankfully, her friend was alive and well, less fortunately, however, it was the Batman who was undoing the girl's gag and bindings, surrounded on all sides by the unconscious bodies of Clownface's henchmen. Anne had hoped she would be able to snag Kat and race out of the garage while Joker and Batman took care of each other, however it looked as though Flying Mammal Man had other ideas. _This really just isn't my day, is it?_

Recovering from her blow, the Joker got to his feet, laughing hysterically. He wagged a finger at her, "You… _you_ are a bad girl."

"Yeah?" She raised her brow with a smirk. "Well, it's in the job description."

"Ugh, will you two _stop_?" Batman had evidently gotten to Kat's gag, and the girl was using her renewed ability to speak with relish.

Ignoring her friend's outburst, Anne began circling around the Batman as he loomed ever nearer. She knew she had no hope of beating him in a fist fight, the night at Arkham had taught her that much, but she _could_ most likely get the slip on him. She just had to make sure he was busy with the Joker when she made her break for it.

"Talk about a party crasher, _hmm_?" The Joker looked positively gleeful as he focused his attention on the new threat, a switchblade seeming to appear magically in his hand. Always a man of few words, Batman didn't even deign to respond before launching himself at the clown.

 _Well, that was easy._ Anne could recognize an opportunity when she saw one, and wasted no time racing over to Kat. "Come on," she breathed, grabbing Kat's shoulder and a gun from one of the unconscious henchmen's hands.

The girl followed with little resistance, slamming and locking the door behind them as they dashed through it. _Fuck, the stairs only lead up,_ Anne realized as she looked around. She had been hoping to find a way down, because while the roof may have been a viable escape route for Anne, she had little confidence that Kat would be able to manage.

"You put a fucking gun to my head!" _Oh boy._ Anne cast a glance over at her friend as she started sprinting up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"I'd fucking counted the chambers, Kat, I knew it was an empty round!" She was in no mood for her anger, not when Anne had just saved the girl's life in what was nothing short of a miracle.

" _Bullshit_ ," Kat seethed, panting heavily as she tried to keep up with Anne's pace. "And even if you had, there's still no excuse." She reached a landing and stopped, leaning on her knees to catch her breath. "Can we slow down?"

"No- _fuck_!" Anne threw Kat to the ground as a gunshot echoed from above. Apparently one of the Joker's henchmen had escaped this way as well, hence why the door had been suddenly opened. Looking up, she barely had time to register the clown mask gazing at her over the railing before the man fired off another shot. A millisecond later, her upper arm exploded in pain.

 _He fucking shot me!_ Rage boiled up in Anne's stomach. "You mother _fucker_!" She screamed, raising her own stolen gun and aiming it at the stupid clown. She shot blindly, missing as the man ducked beneath the railing. When he popped up again to fire off another round, Anne took her shot, this time hitting the target dead on. The gun fell from the henchmen's hands, clattering down the staircase, as he slumped out of view. "Take that, ya fucking cunt!"

"Are you okay?" Kat stumbled back up, eyes widening as she took in Anne clutching at her bleeding arm.

"Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed her, lodging in the concrete wall of the staircase rather than her flesh. Still, the wound hurt like a bitch. "Come on, we gotta keep moving. One way or another, someone in a fucking costume is coming after us."

Nodding, Kat dashed after Anne, who vaulted up the stairs as quickly as she could, only minutely slowed down by her gunshot wound. The two made it up three more flights of stairs, pausing only briefly so that Anne could kick the dead body of the henchman, before coming to the roof's door. _This is gonna be interesting_ , she thought as she shoved it open.

The biting wind blew into Anne's face immediately as she stepped out into the night, feeling as though she were on an island of concrete in the midst of a skyscraper sea. The sensations were almost overbearing, between the harsh, glittering buildings and the blaring noises of the city. In the distance, she noticed a light pointed at the sky, with a figure in the middle which looked suspiciously like a bat. "Huh?" She pointed it out to Kat. "That's new."

"No, it's been up for like a year," her friend said, closing the door behind them. "I think it's on top of the MCU."

Frowning, Anne returned her focus to the problem at hand: how to get off the roof and escape. A quick scan of her surroundings revealed no immediate solution, at least not one which Kat could pull off as well. Racing over to the side of the roof, she leaned over the edge, trying to see if there were any easy climbing pathways down. "Shit," Anne shot Kat a look over her shoulder, "I think we might be fucked."

" _We_?" The girl raised her brows. "I don't think so, love. _You're_ the one with the gun and the body count, I'm just the Joker's innocent victim." She shot Anne a faux-smile, mockingly batting her eyelashes. "To the Batman, we are not one and the same."

"I _will_ shoot ya." Anne snapped back, although she didn't even bother raising her gun. "And anyways, that won't matter if it's the Joker who finds us up here. To him, we _are_ one and the same."

"Oh, yeah right!" Kat made her way over to where Anne was standing, her eyes narrowing for good measure as she faced the contract killer. "Every time you or the Joker opened your mouth down there it was to flirt with each other." She poked Anne in the shoulder, narrowly avoiding her wound. Still, it was enough to make her hiss in pain and swat at Kat's hand. "Don't think I didn't pick up on that."

Anne pretended to widen her eyes indignantly, "I have no idea what you're talking about, honey."

"Sure," Kat crossed her arms, leaning against the roof's railing as Anne continued to search for a way down. "Listen, I don't have like _the best_ taste in men-"

" _Really_?" Anne's tone was drenched in sarcasm as she faked a look of shock.

" _However_ ," Kat ploughed on, her glare intensifying, "we're talking about a fucking batshit crazy terrorist who dresses up like a clown! Come on, love, that's insane even for you."

"Nothing's insane for me," Anne muttered, noticing an apartment building situated directly next to the parking garage. It had a low enough roof that even Kat could probably jump onto it, provided she had a running start and big enough balls to attempt it. _Doubt it_.

"Hey, I think I-" But the door to the roof banged open, cutting her words off. "Shit." Anne raced back over to where Kat was standing, hoisting her gun up as the Batman emerged out of the stairwell. Infuriatingly, he didn't appear to be panting. _Really? He can just take on the Joker and then hop up those fucking endless stairs, no problem? God, I want him dead._

"Hand over the girl." His raspy voice resonated strangely across the rooftop as he stared down Anne, stoic and boring as per usual.

 _Hand over the…?_ Anne looked back at Kat (who was partially cowering behind her) in confusion before the realization hit. _Oh my fucking god, he doesn't know we're friends. He thinks I'm trying to kidnap her._ Rather than ruin that perfectly good bit of misinformation, Anne decided she would run with it. "Ya want her?" She grinned as an idea wiggled it's way into her mind. _God, Kat's never gonna forgive me for this shit._ "Sure thing." Lowering her gun, Anne spun on her heel, using the momentum to kick Kat squarely in the chest, sending her plummeting off the side of the roof. "Go get her!"

Moving with surprising speed, the Batman hurled himself after Kat as she screamed and flailed her way towards the road below. _You're right, Kitty Kat, we are_ not _one and the same._ Realizing she could now get away scotch free, Anne jumped up in glee, laughing as she sprinted towards the opposite side of the roof, hurtling onto the apartment building she had been eyeing earlier.

 _I wonder if the Joker managed to escape from Batman again too?_ She hid the gun away in her cargo pants as she climbed down the apartment building with as much stealth as she could manage while slowed down by her wound. Even though she had left Batman preoccupied for a few minutes, he would still be close at hand after he got done saving Kat, meaning Anne couldn't afford to make a commotion. Not to mention, there was always a chance the Joker was near too, had he truly managed to shake off Batman. Somehow, Anne thought that was _exactly_ what Clownface had managed to do. He was too much of a bastard for anything truly bad to ever happen to him. At that thought, a smile came unbidden to Anne's face and she looked back at the parking garage fondly. _See ya soon, Mr. J._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: As the GPD and Batman attempt to find out the identity of the mysterious Roulette, Kat's loyalty to her friend is tested.


	7. Joke's on You

**Joke's On You**

" _Every breath you take and every move you make,_

_Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you._

_Every single day, every single word you say,_

_Every game you play, every night you stay, I'll be watching you._

_Oh can't you see, you belong to me?"_

_-_ **Every Breath You Take** , The Police

* * *

Kat sat in the back of the open ambulance, shaking slightly as the paramedic placed a blanket around her shoulders. "Here you go, sweetie," the woman smiled at her kindly. "Do you need anything else?" Barely looking up, Kat shook her head.

"No thank you, I'm good." She wrapped the blanket tightly around her, realizing that the police commissioner, Jim Gordon, was headed her way. This was the part Kat had been dreading. She had known, the second Batman left her in the midst of the police, that she would be questioned by someone sooner or later. She just hadn't expected it to be the police commissioner himself. She supposed the crime _had_ been rather high-profile, given that it was the Joker who had kidnapped her. Still, Kat always found it harder to lie to people she admired, and she liked Jim Gordon, at least from what she had seen on TV. Even if he did go after men like her boyfriend.

"Hi ma'am," Gordon smiled, almost in a fatherly way, as he came to stand before her. "Jim Gordon," he extended his hand, "I'm the police commissioner."

"Katarina Nord," she shook his hand, giving him a small grin in return.

"You've been through quite the ordeal tonight, Miss Nord." He put his hands on his hips as he surveyed her, taking in her bruised face and tousled hair. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing alright." Pulling at the edges of the blanket, Kat decided to try and push her luck. "Can I go home now? I'm really feeling fine, I promise. This blanket helped a lot." She wasn't even shivering anymore, the shock of being kicked off a building seemed to have worn off. _I swear next time I see that fucking bitch I'm going to throw her off a building myself. How fucking_ dare _she?_

"I'm afraid not," a frown pulled at Gordon's face, "we're going to need to escort you back to the Major Crimes Unit so we can ask you a few questions and get your official statement." He motioned with two fingers for Kat to follow him, leading the way over to a parked police cruiser. "Then we'll take you straight home, I promise that."

"Oh, okay." Kat clutched her blanket as Gordon offered her another one of his smiles, opening the door to the cruiser for her.

"Officer Berg here will drive you back to the MCU for me, you'll be safe with him." He made sure Kat got into the car before shutting the door behind her, nodding to the man in the driver's seat, presumably Officer Berg.

"You'll be alright, ma'am," Berg piped up from the front, starting the engine. "We'll get you to the MCU in no time."

And so they did. The car ride passed in a blur for Kat, who was too busy being furious at Anne to truly register what was happening. _She fucking puts a gun to my head, claiming she had 'counted the chambers'! How could she have been sure pulling the trigger wasn't going to kill me? She just didn't care because she was too busy trying to impress the fucking Joker._ Kat glared out the window of the car as she thought, leaning her head against the glass. _The first thing I'm gonna fucking do when I get back home is kick her out. Her greedy, selfish ass is the reason I'm in this mess to begin with._

Mind made up, Kat remained relatively content for the rest of the ride, only beginning to feel a prickle of unease when Berg finally pulled up to the police station. Kat had never been the greatest at lying, and she tended to avoid doing it at all costs, but there was no way around the fact that she was going to have to lie while being questioned. She couldn't exactly tell the police that she was friends with a notorious Bratva hitwoman whom she had recently provided with a place to stay. Nor could she tell them that said assassin had been contracted to kill the Joker, however, due to being clinically fucking insane, hadn't gone through with the hit and had rather fallen head-over-heels for the psychopathic clown. All of this, culminating in Kat's eventual kidnapping at the hands of the aforementioned madman, only to be saved by her friend in a typically cruel fashion before being kicked off a roof and caught by the Batman. _Damn, I should write a book._

Berg escorted Kat inside to what looked like an interrogation room, complete with a one-way window and hard, metal chairs. At the sight of it all, Kat began to panic, wondering if maybe they had lied to her. Maybe Gordon really did know more than he was letting on about her relationship with Anne, or maybe the Batman had heard something detrimental. "Why am I being brought here?" She rounded on Berg, frowning. "I'm not a criminal, I don't need to be interrogated."

"It's simply standard procedure, miss." He placed a calming but firm hand on her shoulder, directing her to one of the metal chairs. "We know you're not a criminal, we just need to ask you a few questions." When Kat had reluctantly taken a seat, Berg began to retreat. "The police commissioner will be with you in a moment, sit tight." Then he was gone, leaving Kat alone with her thoughts.

She took these few, precious moments to decide on a story. She needed to be consistent if Gordon was going to believe she was merely an innocent, hapless victim of the Joker and not someone who was inextricably linked with Gotham's underworld. _I'll just pretend I don't know shit._ The more she feigned ignorance about, the less they could ask her.

"My apologies you had to wait." At the sound of Gordon's voice, she whipped around in her chair, just in time to watch him close the door to the interrogation room. "We'll make this quick, Miss Nord. Just be as honest and direct as you can." He took up the seat opposite her, setting a stack of papers down on the table. "To begin, your name is Katarina Nord, correct?" Kat nodded. "And your date of birth?"

"May 3rd, 1990." _That_ made Gordon look up, surprise splayed across his face.

"You're only nineteen?" His gaze took in her features again, something which only served to deepen his frown. "What could you have possibly done to get the attention of the Joker?"

Discomfort shot up Kat's spine and she merely shrugged, tugging at the shock blanket around her shoulders.

"Alright… why don't you tell me how the night started?" Gordon folded his hands in front of him, focusing intently on Kat.

Swallowing, she nodded hesitantly. "I was just walking back home after shopping when these two men in clown masks grabbed me, right off the sidewalk," she lied, realizing that if she told Gordon her apartment had been broken into, he would send officers over to investigate, something Kat was desperate to avoid given that Anne had probably returned there by now.

"Do you remember what street you were on when this happened?" Panicking, Kat simply shook her head, hoping Gordon would buy her feigned forgetfulness. "Okay, and do you know what time this occurred?" His face remained impassive as he continued, giving Kat no hints as to whether or not he believed her.

"Uh, maybe 10?" That part wasn't a lie.

"What happened then?" Gordon made a few notes on the papers in front of him before returning his gaze to Kat's swollen features.

"One of them hit me in the face," she motioned to her black eyes, "and knocked me out. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up in a parking garage with my hands and feet tied up, and a gag in my mouth."

"Was the Joker there at this point? Did he say anything to you about why he had you kidnapped?"

Kat shook her head. "No, he never spoke to me. I didn't even see him until I was brought out of this room they were keeping me in." That much was true as well. The Joker hadn't spoken a word to Kat the entire time, she had only realized he was even there when his henchmen had dragged her out into the garage and she had seen him talking to Anne, which, on top of sending a flood of relief through her veins, had allowed her to piece the whole situation together. The only thing Kat still hadn't been able to figure out was how the Joker knew where she lived.

"And what about the other woman that was there?" Kat shot Gordon a glance, realizing that the Batman may have told him more about the situation than she realized. Suddenly wary, as she wasn't sure how much the Batman had heard, she continued.

"I have no idea who she was." She eyed the table as she spoke, refusing to meet Gordon's gaze.

"Does she work for the Joker?"

"I'm not sure." Kat bit her lip. "He talked to her a lot, but I couldn't really hear what they were saying. Sorry."

"Okay, so let me get this straight." She couldn't be sure, but Kat swore she heard irritation beginning to edge Gordon's tone. "The Joker breaks out of Arkham last night and today the first thing he does is kidnap you?" He took her silence as an answer and ploughed on, "But he doesn't even tell you why? Or speak to you at all?"

"No, sir."

Sighing, he said, "So then why don't you tell me what happened when you saw him speaking to this woman who you say you don't know?"

Kat took a steadying breath before replying, realizing this had undoubtedly become an interrogation. "Um, so these men in clown masks bring me out into the parking garage and I see the Joker is there and he's speaking to the woman you mentioned. They talked for awhile and then he made her play Russian roulette with me." She shifted in her seat, feeling a bit of her confidence return as she got to the part where lying wasn't exactly necessary. It would suffice to merely leave some details out. "The woman went first, then it was my turn, and then it was her turn again, but instead of aiming at her head, she shot out the parking garage's light." Scrunching her brow, Kat suddenly realized Anne _must_ have known Batman had been there at this point, it was the only explanation as to why she would mention him owning the city. She may have even known he was coming to save them. _How did she do that? How did she know he would show up?_

"I couldn't see what happened after that, but I heard Batman fighting the dudes who were holding me. Then he told me that I was going to be alright and cut the rope and gag off me." Kat closed her eyes as she tried to remember what happened next. "Oh yeah, and somehow a door off to the side of the garage got opened, so we could all see again. Uhhh, then Batman started fighting the Joker, I think."

Gordon scrunched his brow as he tried to puzzle it all together. "It was the woman who shot out the garage's light?"

"Yeah."

"So she _wasn't_ working with the Joker?" He fixed Kat with as intense a glare as she imagined he was capable of, however she merely shrugged, unsure of what to say. _No, she's obviously not working with the fucking Joker if he's making her play Russian roulette and she's having to kill the lights just to escape him._ "Did you see them fighting at all? The Joker and this woman?" _I mean yeah, but for them it just counts as flirting._

"I don't remember, sorry," she sent Gordon what she hoped was a regretful, timid grin. "But I don't think so, because after the Joker and Batman started fighting, the woman grabbed a gun and forced me to follow her up a staircase."

"Did _she_ say why she wanted to kidnap you?" He pressed, picking up his pen in anticipation. However, Kat simply shook her head once more.

"No, I'm sorry Mr. Gordon." _Because she wasn't fucking kidnapping me, she was helping me escape._ "When we were running up the staircase, though, a man in a clown mask shot at us and she killed him." Watching him die hadn't bothered Kat nearly as much as it probably should have. She had seen too many men die before to really be fazed by it, as much as it pained her to admit. Growing up with a mob family had instilled a sense of apathy which Kat had never truly shaken off.

"Then we kept climbing until we came to the roof. I think she was looking for a way down. But before she found one, the Batman showed up. I guess he had already gotten the Joker?" Kat didn't truly know why Batman had stopped fighting the Joker, maybe he had knocked him out by that point, or maybe the clown had managed to slip away. Somehow, Kat doubted both options, which didn't do much to clarify the situation. "Anyways, the Batman told the woman to hand me over and she said 'sure' and then kicked me off the roof. And that's, um, how you found me." She avoided Gordon's gaze as she finished, a distinct sense of guilt curdling her stomach.

"I see," Gordon cleared his throat. "Would you mind describing the woman to me, in as much detail as you remember?"

Kat couldn't exactly lie here either, since the Batman had seen Anne without her ski mask on. "Uh, sure… she was taller than me and her hair was in a ponytail, I think the color was darker than mine too, but still blonde. Oh and she wore red lipstick, kinda like the Joker."

"Alright," Gordon jotted something down on the paper as he spoke. "Thank you, Miss Nord." He paused for a beat, then stood up. "If you don't mind, there's just one more person who's going to ask you questions."

"Who?" She demanded, following Gordon's movements carefully as he headed for the door.

Turning back to her with a knowing smile, Gordon opened the door to the interrogation room, revealing the hulking figure of Batman in the hallway. "You!" Kat gasped. "But you're wanted by the GCPD!" The vigilante closed the door behind the police commissioner, stopping for a moment to survey Kat's mangled appearance before striding nearer.

"This is off the record." Batman rasped, taking up Gordon's vacant seat and glaring at Kat with his black-ringed eyes. "Your story doesn't add up, Katarina."

"Yes it does!" She snapped back immediately, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

"No, it doesn't." Batman growled, his mouth tightening in annoyance. "When I found you and the other woman on the roof it didn't seem like you were being held against your will. She didn't even point the gun at you when I showed up." He cocked his head, seeming to offer her a chance to defend herself. Kat held her tongue, however, figuring if she opened her mouth it would only serve to worsen the situation. "You even seemed to be hiding _behind_ her. Like you were scared of me, not her."

"Well, you're kinda scary." True to form, the Batman didn't crack a smile. _Man, the Joker really is your perfect archnemesis, isn't he?_ "Besides, if you really didn't think I was being kidnapped, why did you follow? Weren't you busy with the Joker?" She realized far too late that her questions came off as defensive.

Narrowing his eyes, Batman grunted, "I left the Joker after he told me the woman was going to kill you if I didn't stop her."

Kat's eyes widened. "So you didn't catch him? The Joker's still out there?" When Batman gave a single, curt nod, she felt a sense of dread pool into her abdomen. _Shit, I'm so fucked! There's no way Anne stays away from him._

"I think you know more than you're letting on." Batman's statement jerked Kat back to the present situation in a most unpleasant way. "I think the Joker kidnapped you to lure that woman to him." _Oh my god, no, no, no._ She had to fight _hard_ to keep her face impassive. "How do you know her, Katarina? Is she your sister?"

"She's not my sister." Once again, not a lie. However, how Batman knew Kat had a sister was another matter entirely. _Maybe he really has done his research? How much does he know exactly?_ Panic returned full force to her at the possibilities. _Fuck, I could probably go to prison._

"Then what is she to you?" Batman pressed, leaning forward ever so slightly. Kat shrank back in her chair.

"I've never met her before tonight!" Her voice was rising fast, much to Kat's dismay, and she felt tears beginning to sting her eyes. "I don't know who she is!"

"You're lying," he snarled.

"No I'm not!" The tears spilled over her eyelids and Kat rubbed them away angrily with the blanket.

The Batman must've noticed her crying, because he leaned back again, giving Kat more space. "What's her name, Katarina?" His voice was somewhat gentler this time, but still insistent. "You know she's killed people, she killed someone in front of you tonight. If you tell me her name, you can save lives." Of course Kat knew Anne killed people, it had been the girl's whole fucking career since she was about fifteen. She didn't like to think about that fact, however, just like she didn't think about all the awful things she was sure Rob had done and continued to do as a drug kingpin. _I know if Anne gets arrested I'll be saving lives, but if I tell you her name, Batman, I'll be effectively murdering her._ And that was something Kat would never be able to bring herself to do, no matter how mad she got at Anne.

Apparently taking her silence to heart, Batman pressed on. "She's the same person as the woman who I found in the Joker's cell the night he escaped Arkham, isn't she?" Kat's head shot up at that. She had completely forgotten Anne had run into Batman the night she first attempted to kill the Joker. _And I was there too._ Kat suddenly felt as though she might be sick.

"That's what I thought."

"I didn't say anything," She immediately clarified, her palms beginning to sweat.

"You didn't have to. What was she doing in his cell?" He leaned forward again, now that Kat's eyes were dry. It was clear her continued silence was frustrating Batman, his mouth becoming more and more taught. "Why are you protecting her? What is she to you?" His voice started to rise as his anger spilled over. "She kicked you off a roof, and before that she put a gun to your head as part of the Joker's sick game. If you think she cares about you, she doesn't."

Ignoring the startling fact that Batman had watched at least some of the Russian roulette game play out, Kat took a moment to soak in his words. It was true that Anne had put the gun to Kat's head, but she had also put it to her own head, and _claimed_ she had counted the chambers beforehand. _That would explain how she knew the gun was going to shoot out the light. It was too perfectly timed for her not to have counted beforehand._ Feeling slightly reassured and less furious at the contract killer, Kat reassessed the second accusation. Batman was right again when he said Anne had kicked her off a roof, but she hadn't broken any of Kat's ribs, something she knew the girl had done on purpose, and of course Anne had to have known that Batman was going to save Kat. The only reason he had abandoned his pursuit of the Joker was to save Kat from Anne in the first place. So, yes, there had been some carelessness on Anne's part in regard to Kat's safety, but Kat had come out of it shaken, yet otherwise unharmed. Which, frankly, was nothing short of a miracle given that she had been kidnapped by the most infamous psychopath in the city. _Batman just doesn't understand how things work in this lifestyle._

"I've never met her before tonight." Kat knew she sounded like a broken record at this point, but she was past caring. She felt a renewed sense of confidence in Anne's friendship and was ready to simply go home, clean up, and sleep for a _long_ time.

Batman gave an audible sigh, his fist tightening. "Fine. One more question." At that, she perked up, feeling as though a weight had just been lifted off her shoulder. "Do you know who tipped off the police about the Joker's location tonight?"

"What?" _So that's how Batman knew where to find us._ Kat had no idea how she had done it, but she had a sneaking suspicion Anne was the one responsible for it. "No, sorry. I didn't even know they were tipped off."

Batman snorted derisively at her words. "I think that's the first honest thing to come out of your mouth tonight." He stood up abruptly, giving Kat another fleeting glance. "You're caught up with some very bad people, Katarina, but I assume you already know that. Take my advice and get out of it all while you can. I doubt this woman and the Joker are done with each other yet, and until I stop them, your life is in danger. I can't promise your safety."

Kat met his gaze, annoyed at the condescending, paternal tone the Batman had just taken. "I'm not asking you to," she responded coldly. His eyes turned hard at that, and he walked brusquely from the room, leaving Kat utterly alone.

* * *

**A week later**

The music blared as Anne spun around, trying to find Kat in the sea of dancing bodies. Her eyesight was beginning to blur at the edges, and an unsteadiness had taken hold of her feet, exacerbated by the heels Kat had lent her. Her friend had dragged Anne to the Reno, a strip club owned by Kat's kingpin boyfriend, to party with her on the girl's night off. Normally, Anne would've laughed at the suggestion that she go clubbing with Kat, however she had felt as though she owed it to the girl after kicking her off a roof last week. Thankfully, Kat hadn't kicked Anne out for that little escape stunt, and the contract killer wanted to make sure she stayed in her friend's good graces. Which meant playing nice for now.

Stumbling through the crowd, Anne managed to get to the bar, where she found Kat ordering yet another round of tequila. Anne had to laugh, the girl may have nagged at her for the drug habit, but she could say _nothing_ about Anne's drinking. Not when Kat could practically match the contract killer shot for shot.

"Oh my god, _hey_ ," Kat beamed as she noticed Anne materializing by her side. Turning back to the bartender, she added, "My friend'll have another round of vodka too." The man nodded and grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose; Kat could order as many drinks as she wanted for free here, courtesy of Rob.

"Come to the bathroom with me," Anne said as she threw back her shot. "I got some snow." She didn't even bother to keep her voice lowered; the Reno's clientele was mostly composed of Gotham's underworld elite. No one was going to call the cops on her here. _Most of them are already high outta their fucking minds, anyway._

Kat, however, merely shook her head. "No way, bitch, I don't do coke anymore." She rested her elbows on the bar, motioning to the bartender for yet another tequila shot.

"Pussy," Anne muttered, but didn't push the issue. "What about addies?" She leaned her head against the cool wood of the counter, closing her eyes to stop the world spinning.

" _No_!" Kat's voice became irritated. "That shit is just like decaf coke."

"Exactly," Anne shot up, grabbing Kat's arm in an effort to remain upright as she tottered to the side. "It's not real snow. Since _apparently_ ya don't do that anymore." She sent the girl a smile, taking in the slight puffiness around her eyes, the remnants of where the Joker's henchmen had punched her. The bruises were still there too, turned a sickly yellow color with time, but Kat had covered up the discoloration with her foundation and concealer. Anne had done the same thing to her own wounds, using makeup to hide the bruise on her cheekbone and her split lip. The gunshot wound on her arm (which she had stitched up the night it happened) she had simply covered by borrowing one of Kat's long-sleeve party dresses.

"No, love," Kat took her shot and motioned for Anne to do the same. "C'mon, just drink up." Rolling her eyes, Anne did as she was directed, swallowing past the burn as she gazed out at the drunken crowd. Lights flashed across the dance floor as the music pulsed, the bass seeming to vibrate within her very bones. There were tables situated in the back, behind the dancing crowd, where the mob bosses could sit and talk business. Anne eyed them through her blurring vision, straining to see if she recognized any. _Don't know… don't know… don't- oh my fucking god._

Anne pivoted so quickly she lost her balance, falling into Kat. "Oh, shit!" She heard the girl gasp, grabbing wildly at the bar counter. It did little good, Anne's weight took them both down.

"Are you alright?" The bartender, who didn't even bother to hide his smirk, peered over the bar at them, an empty glass in hand. Anne nodded, rubbing her tailbone ruefully and hoping the fall hadn't popped any of her stitches. _That better not have been who I fucking think it was._

"I'm fine, thanks," Kat offered the man a smile as she hobbled back to her feet, before smacking Anne in the arm, narrowly missing her wound. "What the _fuck_? Why'd you run into me?"

"I didn't do it on _purpose_ ," Anne snarled, clinging to the bar in order to remain upright. She felt as though the world were spinning around her. _How much have I had?_ She'd lost count, all she knew was that she needed coke, and _quickly_. Looking over her shoulder, she shot another glance at the man who had startled her, double checking to make sure it really was who she thought it was. _Fuck me…_ Her heart sank into her stomach. It was Alexei.

"Does Rob have connections with the Bratva?" She turned on Kat, who was busy downing more tequila, this time with the aid of a lime wedge.

Kat cocked her brow at the question. "Uhhh, probably? I don't know, he's one of the biggest distributors in Gotham, you tell me." Her gaze narrowed as she took in Anne's slackening face. "Why?"

The contract killer sucked at her teeth before responding, trying desperately to think of the best course of action. _This would be so much easier if I wasn't fucking wasted._ Should she tell Kat that Alexei was here in Gotham, a mere few feet away? Or would it be safer to simply leave the Reno now and pretend she had never seen her handler? _One way or another, he's gonna come looking for me eventually. Better I come up to_ him _now so he can't take_ me _by surprise later._ Anne truly had no clue why Alexei had come to Gotham, and even less of an idea as to why he was at the Reno this very moment. However, even in her drunken state, she knew his presence spelled nothing but trouble.

" _Don't_ cause a scene, honey," she finally spoke up, grabbing Kat's shoulder in emphasis, "but I'm pretty sure Alexei is here."

" _What_?" Kat's eyes became huge. " _Where_?" She looked around frantically. "And _why_?"

"He's at one of the tables in the back, sitting with four other men. He's the blonde one, kinda bulky." Anne whispered, glaring at the bartender as she made sure he couldn't hear a word she was saying. "And I have no fucking clue why he's here."

"Is he in a suit?" Kat questioned, narrowing her eyes as she attempted to see through the flashing lights.

"I dunno, probably."

"Then I see him," the girl returned her focus to Anne. "This can't be good, can it?"

The contract killer gave her a wry smile. "Ya know, I have a feeling my lifespan just shortened a _shit ton_ , darling." Anne straightened herself up, trying to regain some semblance of balance in her high heels. "I'm gonna go talk to him, pretend like ya don't know me. I don't want the Bratva finding out about my connection to you." She tried to turn, but Kat caught her wrist.

"I don't like this, Anne," her voice was scarcely audible. "What if I never see you again?"

"What do ya mean, honey?" Anne's smile was full of a confidence she didn't have. "I'm sure you'll be invited to my funeral."

" _Not_ funny," Kat snapped, her fingers digging into Anne's arm.

Snickering, Anne ripped away from the girl's grasp. "Trust me, it'll be fine." She began to back up, waving her fingers goodbye. "Say hi to Rob for me, sweetheart." Winking, she turned and began making her way towards the tables in the back, leaving Kat looking utterly exasperated.

The walk from the bar was not very far, and yet Anne still managed to stumble into countless people, her inebriated gait as wobbly as it was erratic. _What the fuck am I going to say to Alexei?_ She thought as she walked, realizing her sober self may not have approved of what she was about to do. Anne had no leads on the Joker - except the phone he had left on her bed the night Kat was kidnapped, but she couldn't very well bring that up to Alexei. That would force her to admit she had been face-to-face with the Joker _twice_ and yet still hadn't completed the hit. _Mikhas would order me killed if he found out. Actually,_ she eyed Alexei's back as she approached, _he might've already._

"Long time, no see, darling." Anne came to stand beside Alexei, placing her hand on his shoulder to keep herself upright and steady.

Her handler whipped around, mouth wide open. She could see the shock, plain as day, on his face as he realized who she was.

"Блядь, Алексей! Я не знал, ты уже имел сука в Готэме." One of the men guffawed, eyes flicking between the two. Alexei shot him a look and mimed a cut across his neck: _knock it off_. But Anne had already locked gazes with the perpetrator, a small grin spreading across her lips.

"Да," she deposited herself in Alexei's lap, "сука кто говорит по русски." At her words, the man's smirk dropped and he cast a look to her handler, clearly worried.

"Who the fuck is this?" Another man demanded, glaring at Anne with hostility he didn't bother to conceal. She sent him a wide smile.

"This is, well…" Alexei trailed off, glancing at Anne with a furrowed brow.

"I'm Roulette," she finished, beaming. The men immediately laughed, taking in her drunken, distinctly non-Russian demeanor and apparently deciding she couldn't be their infamous Bratva hitwoman. "What?" Anne demanded, trying to get their faces to focus.

"She's not Roulette," this man spoke with the heaviest accent of them all, the words garbled. "She is not even wearing red lipstick." That had been Roulette's signature, the red lipstick. She would always wear it during hits, to add the dramatic flair she had never been able to resist. _Kinda like Mr. J's clown makeup._

" _That's_ my work uniform, honey," she replied, leaning back into Alexei. "I don't wear my work uniform out to party."

"I still think she is lying," the man shrugged, sharing a nod with the others around the table.

"The girl is not lying," Alexei finally piped back up, shifting beneath Anne. "She's Roulette."

"That's right, fuckers," she leaned her elbows on the table, grinning madly. "Got the star and everything." She pulled the collar of her dress aside to reveal the tattoo she had on her shoulder. This made the men exchange uncomfortable glances, backtracking mentally.

One of them opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, evidently thinking better. Instead, the four of them cast their eyes to Alexei, looking to the handler for direction. _Oooh so you bastards aren't even high-ranking, are ya?_ Anne realized, twirling a piece of her hair as she eyed them wickedly. As long as she outranked the men, she could mouth off to them as much as she wanted.

Alexei sighed. "Come, Roulette," he patted her thigh, "get off me. We need to speak in private." _You're damn fucking right we do._ "I'll see you gentlemen later," the handler added.

With one last grin at the men, Anne staggered to her feet, watching as Alexei stood up in a similarly unsteady fashion. She realized he must've already been wasted as well, perhaps more so than her. Anne felt the corners of her mouth twitching, if Alexei was truly this drunk, it would be _far_ easier to get information out of him than if he had been sober. Her handler had never been the brightest of men, but he generally knew when to keep his mouth shut. The only time his tongue loosened up was when he was either hammered or around Anne, and since he was both right now, the contract killer liked her chances.

"Come," Alexei grabbed her by the waist and began steering her towards one of the back rooms, with the certainty of someone who had been to the Reno before. _How long has he been in Gotham for?_ Side-eyeing her handler, Anne allowed herself to be led through a darkened hallway, leaning against Alexei for support. The man stumbled a little himself, but kept one hand on the wall to remain upright.

"Why the _fuck_ are you in Gotham?" Anne rounded on Alexei the second they had made it to a deserted room, pulling out of the man's grasp.

"I wanted to see you," Alexei smiled, stepping closer, but Anne could smell the bullshit from a mile away.

"Uh huh," she leaned back into the wall as the world continued to spin, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Now tell me why Mikhas sent ya, darling."

"I can't tell you, Roulette, you know that." He grinned as he closed the gap between them, leaning down to kiss her.

Anne, who was so drunk that the idea of fucking Alexei didn't entirely repulse her, didn't push him away at first. She let him linger for a few moments before eventually shoving him backwards. "You can tell me, honey. Ya know I'm not gonna fucking say anything to Mikhas, I'm not stupid." She kept her voice soft, knowing if she was sweet he would be more likely to divulge his secret.

"Calm down, baby," Alexei chuckled, pulling her against him. _That_ annoyed Anne, who had to fight the urge to slap him. Instead, she bared her teeth in what she hoped resembled a smile, grabbing him by the arms and preparing to push him away once more, when he added, "I'll tell you when we get back to my hotel room." _When the fuck did I agree to come back to your room, darling?_ Of course Anne had been expecting them to fuck, that was the only reason Alexei, and by extension Mikhas, continued to put up with her mouth. She just hadn't expected her handler to want to spend the _entire_ night with her; she had assumed there were other girls he wanted to see. And the idea of spending hours alone with Alexei suddenly sounded revolting to Anne. She wondered when she had become so disillusioned with her handler. _Oh you know exactly when, sweetheart._

"No," she murmured, "tell me now and then we can go back to your room and do whatever the fuck ya want." She cocked her head to the side, meeting Alexei's gaze.

He snorted in irritation. "Fine, Roulette. You win." He relinquished his hold on her, running a hand through his hair. "I was sent here to kill the Joker, in your place."

Time seemed to stop as Anne's heart dropped. She had never been taken off a hit before, no matter how long she was away. _What is Mikhas playing at?_ Her pulse quickened as she did some swift thinking. "Why?" She finally demanded, barely concealing the snarl in her tone. "Joker is _my_ target." A heat had taken hold of her, and she found herself shoving Alexei in anger, barely aware of what she was doing. " _I'm_ the one contracted to complete the hit! You're not even a fucking hitman! You'd fuck it up!"

In his addled state, Anne's push was enough to send Alexei crashing to the ground, and there was a fire in his eyes when he stood back up. "Don't fucking put your hands on me, bitch!" He growled, slapping her _hard_. Anne's face exploded in pain as her lip split open and stars danced before her vision. She collapsed onto the floor as her handler continued screaming. "It's only because of _me_ that your dumb ass is still alive!" Alexei grabbed her by the arms and dragged her upwards, slamming her into the wall. Anne, who gritted her teeth against the pain, knew better than to fight back. "Mikhas wants you fucking dead!" He hissed, fingers digging painfully into her shoulders. "He didn't just send me here to whack that shitty clown, he wants your fucking head too!"

She fought to keep her face impassive at Alexei's words. The pain seemed to dull as her adrenaline spiked, and she felt all the muscles in her body tense, preparing to fight should her handler decide now was the time to kill her. "Are ya gonna do it?" She whispered, ignoring the blood dribbling down her chin. "Are ya gonna kill me too?"

Alexei scoffed, his anger melting away in the face of Anne's submission. "Of course not." _Pussy._ "Mikhas is too fucking paranoid, you know this. He does not trust you, Roulette." Letting go of Anne, her handler shook his head with a laugh. "But he will come 'round. Once we whack the clown, we'll get you back to Moscow and the boss will forgive you. Just like he always does, no?" _Oh you're such a fucking idiot._

"Ya sure?" Anne asked, hoping that if she pushed enough, Alexei would reveal more information.

"Of course," her handler shrugged, "you are too big of an investment for us to just throw away."

"Investment?" She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Alexei gave a lazy smile. "I shouldn't be telling you this, baby." His hands found her waist once more, but Anne was far more focused on what was coming out of his mouth. "But what the fuck? _I_ would want to know if my father was this big of a dick."

The mention of Anne's father sobered her up and she grabbed Alexei's arms with an iron grip, staring intently into his eyes. "What _the fuck_ are you talking about?"

"Your father, ah, Henry? No… what's his name?" Her handler looked down to her expectantly.

"Tom," she rushed, "his name is Tom."

"Yes, Tom." Alexei nodded. "He contacted Mikhas in 2007, right when you first came to Moscow to whack some rat." Anne had stopped breathing, remaining deathly still, not wanting to miss a word. "The bastard said he had paid off that Italian family you were running with back then, and that they had agreed to release you from your contract and cut you off." Alexei laughed lightly. "I guess Tom wanted to make more off of your hits, cause he claimed the Italians weren't giving him a big enough cut. He said the Russians would be more high-stakes."

 _So that's why no one from the Falcone syndicate contacted me ever again, my father fucking paid them off._ Anne had always just assumed her position as contract killer had been lost in the mix during the transition of power from Carmine to Sal Maroni, but she supposed this new explanation made more sense. She knew that her father had essentially sold her to Falcone all those years ago, but she had had _no_ idea that he was taking a percentage of her pay from each hit. _That fucking cunt,_ she thought. _I shoulda put a bullet in his eye a long time ago._

"It was my father who sold me to Mikhas?" Anne pressed. "He's the reason your men came and found me in Moscow to offer me a job?"

"Yes," Alexei squinted in thought, "he convinced Mikhas that you had enough potential to make us all rich. Well, _richer_." He smirked. "That is why we trained you, because the better you became, the more money you would bring in. Your father is a very smart businessman, Roulette, even if he is a dick."

"So it was all just part of the investment? My training, all of it?" She could barely keep the dejection out of her tone. _The Joker was right, all the mob cares about is money. That's all they'll ever care about, they're no different than every other fucking person on this planet. I can't believe I didn't clock this years ago. God, I'm such an idiot._ Anne had thought that by joining the Bratva she would finally be free of her father and his influence, leaving her years in Gotham behind to start anew in Russia. _I was fucking stupid to think I could get rid of Tom that easy._

"So what?" Alexei evidently caught onto her distress, his brow furrowing. "You became the best, no? It doesn't matter how you became that way."

Anne, who didn't particularly care to explain to Alexei why it mattered _entirely_ how she had come to be Roulette, merely offered a wane smile in response. "You're right, honey. It doesn't mean shit."

It was truly a mark of how dumb Alexei was that he accepted that reply as satisfactory. "Besides, when we get back to Moscow, I'll talk to Mikhas about breaking it off with your father. As a favor to you." Her handler grinned, hooking a finger under her chin and placing a kiss on her lips before continuing. "I don't think he deserves to take a percentage any longer. Your father agreed with Mikhas that you should be killed for your disobedience, plus Mikhas was willing to pay him for the trouble."

That didn't shock Anne nearly as much as the rest of Alexei's story had, however she still felt some instinctive repulsion at the fact that her father would allow her to be killed as long as he was compensated for it. "Yeah that sounds like him," she muttered, half to herself. She wondered what her mom would think about Tom signing her life away like that. Doubtless, she had no idea how close the man had come to having Anne assassinated. _I'll kill him,_ she decided, eyes flicking to Alexei. _I'll kill them all. My father, Mikhas, Alexei, every single fucking one of them. But not before I show them that they don't own me, not before they see that I'm capable of leaving them all behind._ Anne had made up her mind. She was going to join the Joker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I only know the very basics of Russian (thanks Duolingo), so I'm really just hoping Word Reference and Google Translate didn't do me dirty on this one lmao. Also I apologize for the wait, I got caught up in the Tiger King craze and binged the series, and between that and online classes I've been pretty busy. I'm hoping to get the next chapter up within a week again, but it could take a little longer cause I plan on it being pretty substantial.
> 
> Up Next: Anne plays double-agent as she pretends to help Alexei while at the same time trying to find a way to warn the Joker of the Bratva's plans.


	8. Ghost Stories

**Ghost Stories**

" _You were sharp as a knife to get me,_

_You were a wolf in the night to fetch me back._

_The wishes I've made are too viscous to tell,_

_Everyone knows that I'm going to hell._

_And if it's true, I'll go there with you."_

\- **The Wolf** , Phildel

* * *

A putrid smell hit Anne's nose as she awoke, blinking her bleary eyes against the afternoon sun. Gazing at the crumpled white sheets around her, she belatedly remembered she was in Alexei's hotel room and not her own bed. _God fucking dammit._ With a groan she stretched, loosening her aching muscles and further crinkling the linen around her. Sighing deeply, she flopped onto her back, casting a look to the other side of the bed, where her handler's unconscious form lay. He appeared to be sound asleep, snoring into his pillow while his back rose and fell in the bright sunlight. Curling her lip, Anne withdrew her gaze and threw back the covers, sitting up only to realize she was wearing nothing but underwear. At that, she took a moment to truly admonish herself inwardly, before swinging her legs off the bed, only narrowly missing the splatter of vomit on the floor.

_So that's where the smell is coming from_ , she realized, wrinkling her nose as she vaguely recalled hurling over the side of the mattress last night. _Cute._ With another heavy sigh, she skirted around the edge of the puke, making her way to the bathroom. She took stock in the mirror immediately upon entering, drinking in her smeared eye makeup, virtually nonexistent lipstick, and knotted hair. The look was pretty standard for Anne, who had spent more mornings hungover than not. Still, it was never exactly fun.

Closing the door, she emptied her bladder before pulling trig to get rid of her nausea. Vomiting didn't even phase her anymore, she did it so often she thought herself something of an expert. Flushing the puke, which had unsurprisingly been nothing but pure stomach acid, she rinsed her mouth out in the sink. _Now for a cigarette._

When she walked back out into the bedroom, Alexei was up, rubbing his eyes as he forced himself into a sitting position on the mattress. "Morning, honey." She grinned at her handler. "Got a cig?"

Grumbling, Alexei reached over and grabbed a pack off the nightstand before lobbing them at Anne. She caught them with a smirk, only to look down and realize they were Camels. "These aren't Marlboros," she protested, taking one out anyway.

"You're a fucking nicotine addict," Alexei muttered as he tossed her the lighter, "make do." Anne lit the Camel ruefully, doing her best to ignore the distinct difference in it's stale taste. "What smells like shit?" Her handler demanded, looking around the room as Anne threw back his cigarettes and lighter.

"Vomit," she replied, pointing to her side of the bed. "Looks like I puked my guts out last night." Alexei merely snorted at that, plopping back down into the sheets. Anne eyed him curiously as she smoked, wondering how much he remembered from last night. "Do you remember what ya told me at the Reno?" She asked, a stream of smoke billowing out of her mouth.

"Ahhhh, no…" He trailed off, furrowing his brow at Anne. "Why? What did I say?" She swore she could hear a note of panic in his tone.

Hiding her smile, Anne replied, "Just that you were here to help me kill the Joker." The lie came easily to her lips and she watched Alexei carefully, trying to gage his response. "Apparently Mikhas isn't too happy with me."

Relief appeared to sweep across the handler at her words, but Anne assumed he was trying his best to hide it. "Yes, you're right." Grunting, he got to his feet, swiping his clothes off the floor. "He's not, Roulette. But once we whack the clown, it will all be fine."

Anne cocked her head as she watched the man throw a shirt on, wondering if this failure to tell her about Mikhas' desire for the contract killer's head meant he planned on following through. _Nah, Alexei is way too big of a pussy to kill me. He's just better at keeping quiet when he's sober._ Still, this meant Anne would have to watch her back more carefully around her handler from now on.

Alexei turned back to face her, fully clothed, it was only then that he seemed to realize Anne was still in her underwear. "Where is your dress?" He laughed.

Smoke billowed from her nostrils as she replied, "Good question." With a smirk, she made her way back over to the bed, grabbing a handful of blanket and tugging hard. The mountain of sheets flew backwards to reveal the red dress she had borrowed from Kat. "Bingo." She stuck the cigarette between her teeth as she lifted the dress, making sure it hadn't been torn or otherwise damaged. There didn't appear to be a scratch on it.

"Lucky guess," Alexei chuckled, grabbing the remnants of their coke off the dresser while Anne changed.

"Ya got a snow plug in Gotham, darling?" She questioned as she adjusted her dress, wishing she had comfier clothes. "That was the last of mine." She pointed to the empty bag in Alexei's hand.

"Then it's your lucky day," her handler shot her a wide smile. "Mikhas asked me to see to some things while I am staying in Gotham, including managing a shipment of cocaine we have coming in today." Alexei eyed her, taking in the smeared makeup and disheveled appearance. "If you want to tag along, you can. Just clean up first."

Anne beamed, snatching her heels off the floor. "How much cash should I bring?"

"This is the premium shit," Alexei warned. "Straight from Peru. It's 20k for a kilo." He threw the empty coke bag away as he spoke. "I know you like to buy in bulk."

Raising an eyebrow, Anne slipped her shoes on. "20k it is, then. Where should I meet ya?"

"The docks, in 3 hours." The handler informed her. "And look like Roulette."

* * *

Anne made it back to Kat's apartment in no time, sneaking in through the fire escape, as she assumed her current appearance would attract a lot of unwanted attention should she walk in through the lobby. Closing and bolting the window behind her, she turned to find the living room and adjoining kitchen deserted, and a quick sweep of the rest of the apartment turned up no trace of her friend either. _She must be with Rob_ , Anne surmised. Still, there was a small, nagging part of her that worried Kat had been kidnapped again or, worse yet, killed.

Anne had redoubled her efforts in searching for a place of her own ever since Kat's interrogation at the MCU, realizing the Gotham police were undoubtedly investigating her friend and that it was only a matter of time before they found out about Kat's connection to Robert Stallone, whose name the apartment was in. From there, Anne assumed either Gordon or Batman would be knocking down the door any day. Needless to say, she would rather _not_ be in the vicinity when that occurred. Which meant she had to find her own place quickly.

Pulling herself back to the present, Anne staggered into her room, ignoring the dripping smiley face still painted on the door and instead making her over to the desk. She yanked open the first drawer as she deposited herself into a chair, kicking off her heels. Rummaging through the various debris and illicit substances, she found what she was looking for: the phone from the Joker. She hadn't used it since the night of Kat's kidnapping, but she assumed it had a call history somewhere in its database. With the click of a few buttons, she found the number she had called to speak with the Joker. _Bingo!_

Feeling her heart rate elevate, Anne dialed the number and brought the phone up to her ear, shaking every time it rang. It had been a week since she had last spoken to or seen the Joker, and recently he had started making appearances in her dreams. It was almost as though he were taunting her, always standing _just_ out of reach, never quite coming close enough to touch. It only made her want to speak with him more.

The phone rang a couple more times before an answering machine picked up, much to Anne's dismay. Throwing the phone back into the drawer, she wondered whether the number had merely been a burner phone, which would mean Mr. J had tossed it after the first night. If that was the case, Anne would have no way to contact him. Pari certainly wouldn't assist her; the girl had been radio silent since helping Anne and Kat escape, refusing to answer the contract killer's calls and making no effort to contact either of the girls. It worried Anne only a tiny bit. Pari was generally harmless in the sense that she wasn't about to send any murderers after Anne or join with a rival mob syndicate, but if she truly wanted to, the girl could cause damage in her own way. Chiefly, she could reveal to the world Anne's real name, and although Pari didn't know about her Roulette alias, it was only a matter of time before a genius like her pieced two and two together. If she hadn't already.

_I'm gonna have to deal with her at some point,_ Anne realized. She didn't exactly know how she planned to deal with the hacker yet, but that was another thing on her to-do list.

With a sigh, she made her way to the bathroom, realizing she only had a precious few hours before she was supposed to meet Alexei at the Gotham docks. She stripped herself of makeup and clothes quickly, taking a moment to gaze at all the scars, puckered and red, which laced her skin. For as much damage as she had done herself, those particular marks were far less obvious than the ones from others. At least to her eyes.

Her legs and sides were covered in long, slender scars, courtesy of her father's belt, and her stomach held two, old stab wounds: one from Alexei and one from Mikhas. Mikhas' had hurt more, as the boss had been aiming to kill, whereas her handler had only been taking his frustration out. Still, neither had been pleasant to experience. She had other, smaller knife wounds as well, but those had come from random fights, and were of little consequence to her. The worst, most prominent scars came from her gunshots, of which there had only been a few, thankfully. She counted three in total - minus the one sustained last week - and all had happened during her time in the Bratva. Anne hadn't known any of the shooters, but she had made sure none of them lived to tell their tale of shooting the famed Roulette. She had a reputation to uphold.

_My body's gonna fucking break, sooner or later,_ Anne realized, staring at her new gunshot wound and various fresh cuts. She was only twenty years old and yet felt as though she had lived a century, her body torn and battered to the point of near disfigurement. _Like the Joker._ Her lifestyle of drugs and constant violence had taken its toll, in the cruelest of ways. Anne almost felt like a canvas of sorts, with every new scar or tattoo, stretched over lean muscle, adding character to the final piece. It told a story, but not one with a happy ending. _How many more scars will I get before I die?_ Only time would tell.

Anne showered swiftly, washing the stench of vomit and sweat from her body. She was toweling her hair dry when she heard someone unlock the apartment door and enter. She assumed it was Kat, as she was the only one with a key, however Anne didn't hear her friend call out hello, as she usually did whenever she returned home. Suddenly suspicious, she locked the bathroom door and wrapped the towel tightly around her, praying it wasn't someone she would have to fight. Just in case, Anne cast a glance around, looking for something she could use as a weapon. She had to settle for a hard plastic hairbrush.

Weapon in hand, she waited cautiously by the door, ear pressed to the wood as she listened to the person's footsteps. They came wandering down the hall, right past the bathroom, before stopping at Kat's bedroom. _It has to be Kat_. Anne set the hairbrush down and cautiously unlocked the door, ears perked for trouble. _Why didn't she say hello?_

Anne made it to her own room and changed in record time, donning her usual Roulette outfit. Combing through her strands of wet hair, she crept back out into the hallway, coming to stand before Kat's closed bedroom door. "Kat?" She called, listening intently while her hair dripped onto the hardwood flooring below.

"What?" The girl's voice was thick with emotion, almost as though she had been crying. Intrigued, Anne tried to open the door, only to find it locked.

"Open the door, honey." She responded, leaving her hand on the knob.

"No, I'm fine," Kat sniffed out. "Just go away, please."

"One way or another, this door is opening up." Anne could (and would) kick it down, or even pick the lock if she got desperate enough. However, it sounded as though that wouldn't be necessary. There was a resolute sigh, then the noise of feet striding closer, and finally Kat reluctantly opening the bedroom door, coming to stand in front of Anne. _Oh my fucking god…_

Kat's face was nearly unrecognizable, swollen to twice its normal size and splotched with various hues of blue and purple. One of her eyes was shut, and the other was so bloodied it was nauseating to look at. Her friend's lips were split in several places as well, and it looked like one of her teeth had been chipped. Blood, crimson and oozing, was dripping down her cheeks from several cuts, and it even appeared as though she had been choked, with sickening bruises forming around the girl's slender neck.

Anne remained silent for a long time while she took it in, gazing at Kat's tear-stained carnage of a face. After what seemed like an eternity, she swallowed and murmured, "Who am I killing?"

Apparently, that wasn't the response Kat had been hoping for, because she immediately tried to close the door in the contract killer's face. "No one," she snarled. "It's fine."

Grabbing the doorknob once more, Anne instead forced her way into the room, brushing past Kat. "It's not fucking fine, look at your fucking face!" Her eyes widened at the girl's denial. "Who did it, darling? Was it Rob?" She didn't wait for a response. "I bet it was Rob."

Kat's silence confirmed the question, and the girl's one remaining eye looked to the ground. " _Great_ ," Anne continued, "just tell me where the cunt lives, honey, and I'll stop by his place later today. Just gotta run some errands first." She was due to meet Alexei at the docks in an hour. "Ya want me to put a bullet in his head or make him suffer first? I'd prefer the second, ya know, but since he was _your_ boy toy, I'll give ya the final say." Anne sent the girl a wide smile which did not meet her eyes. "I'm charitable like that."

"I _don't_ want you fucking killing him, Anne," Kat finally spoke, her voice quiet. "Seriously. I... I still love him, I just-"

" _What_?" Anne snapped, cutting her friend off. "He's fucking old as shit, probably already married, _and_ he just beat your ass half to hell! How _the fuck_ do ya love him?"

"Some of us have hearts." The girl's lip curled, eyes blazing as she took in Anne's incredulous look. "How can you fucking stand there and ask me why I put up with it? _You_? _Really_?" Kat stepped closer, her face turning even more grotesque as it contorted in anger. "Let's not forget you kicked me off a fucking _roof_ , Anne! And yet I still let your ass stay here! For the same goddamn reason I'm still dating Rob!" She was yelling now, tears leaking from her disfigured eyes. "Because I actually fucking care about people! I know that concept might seem foreign to you, crazy fucking bitch, but most of us live actual _human_ lives! Most of us actually care about other people." She paused, thinking for a beat before adding, "Oh, and what about _your_ fucking face, huh? You're fucking bruised too, bitch, it's not just me taking shit from dudes."

"That's different," Anne clarified immediately, ignoring the rest of Kat's rant. She knew it was merely the girl blowing off some steam, and doubted she should take any of it too deeply to heart. "I don't pretend to give a fuck about Alexei."

Kat gave a hollow laugh. "That's even worse, then." Her tone turned into a sneer, "You're getting your ass beat by a fucking mob lackey."

If the girl's neck hadn't already been so badly bruised, Anne would have grabbed it for that comment. As it was, she was sorely tempted to slap the girl. "Listen up, _Kitty Kat_ , 'cause I'm only saying this shit once," she stepped closer, forcing Kat to back up. "Don't _ever_ compare your shitshow of a relationship to whatever I have going on in my life, do ya understand?" She made sure to speak slowly, so that Kat hung on to every syllable. "Lemme tell ya the difference between you and me, honey. I might let Alexei hit me, but trust me when I say he couldn't kill me if he tried for a hundred fucking years. _You_ , on the other hand? Rob could kill ya in a fucking heartbeat, he wouldn't even break a sweat with your weak ass." She crowded in closer, making Kat stumble into the wall. "Ya see, you're not in control." Anne's voice was barely a whisper now. "But I am."

"You are?" Kat's battered face tilted upwards, meeting the contract killer's dead eyes. "That's _funny_." She gritted her teeth. "Seems to me it's the Joker who's got your number, _love_." The girl's chin jutted out, and she practically spat the next part in Anne's face. "I don't think you're in control of a single fucking thing."

Anne saw red, and the next thing she knew Kat was flying to the floor, sent there by the contract killer's backhand. Her friend cried out in agony, the blow re-injuring her already decimated features.

" _Fuck you_ ," Anne growled, turning to storm out of the room.

"Rob knows!" Kat's call stopped the contract killer in her tracks and she wheeled back around, glaring at the broken figure of her friend. "He knows _everything_ about you. I told him. That's why he got so fucking mad and did this." She spit out a glob of blood, her lip re-opened from Anne's slap. "He knows who you are and he knows why you're in Gotham." She saw hatred, pure and bright, in Kat's eyes as she raised them. "I told him _everything_. You're not safe." The girl smiled then, the gesture malevolent. "If you do anything to me or Rob, the other one will tell the police what they know. We won't even bother to kill you, that'd be too fucking kind. You'll just spend the rest of your days rotting in Arkham."

Anne kept her face deathly still as she surveyed Kat, calculating something within her brain. "Then I'll kill ya both," she finally said.

"Please," Kat scoffed, still lying broken on the floor, "you can't kill me. You can't even kill that fucking clown."

"Willing to bet your life on it?" She cocked a brow, fingers already itching for her Glock.

Kat remained silent for a long while, her swollen face impassive as she took in Anne's face and figure, seeming to ponder something. "Yes." Her voice was quiet, barely over a whisper, but there was potency to the tone, one which left Anne unsure of _her_ own conviction. Then, with a shake of her head, she left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving her friend to rot on the floor.

* * *

Anne pulled up to Gotham's docks on the dot, parking the old clunker she had hotwired off the streets of the Narrows. She finished her Roulette makeup in the rearview mirror before pulling her ski mask on and placing the envelope which held her 20k into the folds of her sweatshirt, right next to her holstered Glock. She had had to visit numerous ATMs within Midtown Gotham, using several of her American bank accounts to withdraw that volume of cash, but it was worth it. The amount of cocaine Anne was about to purchase would keep her stocked for a couple months at least, and the way her life was headed she would undoubtedly be needing it in the coming weeks.

Up ahead, through the windshield, she could see a group of men, presumably Bratva, loitering in the brilliant, midday sun. All of them turned to point at her as she exited the vehicle. With a curse, one began to reach to his side, where Anne was sure he had a gun. "Cтоп!" She called, showing them her gloved hands so they could see she carried no weapon. "Я здесь, чтобы увидеть Алексея."

They relaxed at that, but only slightly. "Кто ты?" One of them asked, narrowing his eyes as she closed the distance between them.

"Pулетка." Their eyes widened, and the one who had spoken raised his brow. Exchanging uncertain glances, they muttered to themselves before nodding in unison.

"Жди здесь." The man held up a single finger as he turned to walk inside one of the huge warehouses, entering through the open garage. He emerged a moment later with Alexei at his side.

"Roulette!" Alexei spread his arms wide as he saw her, a smile adorning his face. "You look like yourself now, no?"

"Hiya honey," she offered him a grin as he threw an arm around her shoulders, steering her into the warehouse. "Is the shipment here yet?"

"Yes," Alexei kept her close, her left side pressing up against him so that he could feel the Glock beneath her sweatshirt. "Oh good, you are armed." He gave her shoulder one last squeeze before relinquishing his hold, heading over to where several men were unloading cardboard boxes.

"Why?" Anne trailed after him, casting a suspicious look around. "Are ya expecting a fight?"

"No, no, not that." His eyes betrayed the lie however, and Anne wondered whether he was worried Mikhas had informed other Bratva men about the target on her head. _And this would be a perfect time to complete the hit_ , she realized with a twinge of panic. _All they would need to do is ambush me, there's no way I could take all twenty of them, even if Alexei was on my side._ Suddenly on guard, Anne began taking stock of the warehouse and the men within it, detailing in her head an escape plan, should the need arise.

"Here," Alexei's voice drew her attention to him, and she realized he was motioning to the insides of the boxes. Curious, Anne peered within, only to see what looked like computers, wrapped in packing peanuts and plastic.

"Computers, huh?" She turned to watch as one of the men pried open the back of one, pulling out a brick of cocaine before replacing the rear panel. "Who's idea was that?"

Alexei shrugged. "An associate."

"I remember in Chechnya we hid the snow in snakes," Anne shuddered. "I fucking hate snakes. Computers are an improvement."

With a smirk, her handler motioned to one of the men unloading the drugs. "Дмитрий!" He called. "Иди сюда."

The man, apparently Dmitri, cast a cautious glance between Alexei and Anne before wandering closer, a brick of coke in his hand. "Какие?"

"I'm buying," Anne spoke in English, testing the man's capabilities. "I want a key." She pulled the 20k out of her sweatshirt, hefting the envelope up.

Dmitri cocked his head at that. "Are you…?" His eyes traveled along her figure, taking in the red lipstick, baggy clothing, and ski mask.

"It doesn't matter," Alexei stepped in, steel in his voice. "She is paying, no? Take her money and give her the kilo."

The man hesitated for a moment, staring at Alexei as he appeared to contemplate something. Then, redirecting his gaze to Anne, he extended the coke in her direction, almost with trepidation, as though he was expecting her to bite. Anne snatched it up immediately, before he could change his mind, handing the 20k over as well. He took it, his eyes never leaving her face, as Anne secured the brick in her sweatshirt, zipping the pocket closed so that she wouldn't lose her precious cargo.

"Благодаря," she smiled at Dmitri, watching his brow furrow, however he didn't deign to respond. Instead, he merely turned away and began unpacking more of the drugs, setting her 20k aside for later counting.

"You are welcome," Alexei leaned over with a grin, crossing his arms across his chest and looking far too pleased with himself.

Anne cocked an eyebrow, although she assumed the action was lost beneath her ski mask. "Thanks, honey." She patted the bulge in her pocket, where the coke was stored. "I'll be trying some tonight."

Alexei opened his mouth to respond, but a commotion coming from the open garage of the warehouse cut him off. The men standing guard had begun shouting, and when Anne wheeled around she saw that all of them had drawn their guns. A millisecond later, she heard police sirens. _Fuck, the GCPD is here._ Acting on instinct, she drew her Glock, the feeling of it's weight bringing her comfort and a sense of confidence. No one could touch her like this. At least, that's what she believed.

"Блядь." Alexei cursed and drew his own pistol, checking the magazine to make sure it was full. "How _the fuck_ did they find out about this?" Anne could sense how angry he was, and scared too. _He's not used to operating outside of Russia, is he?_ Her handler may have been in the upper ranks of the mob, but he rarely found himself caught up in shootouts. That was what people like Anne were for, to act as protection for the bosses so that they themselves were never in the firing line. _God, what fucking pussies._

Hearing the squeal of tires, Anne shot towards the back of the warehouse, away from the doors where she knew most of the officers would be streaming in. There was no doubt in her mind the GCPD knew exactly what they were raiding, and a mob drug-bust would call for the full force of the department. That meant SWAT, detectives, and most likely Gordon himself. _No Batman, though,_ she thought as she sprinted. _He'd never show his grumpy fucking face in the light of day._

Much to her relief, Alexei had not followed her, and she lost sight of the handler as she rounded a corner in the warehouse, trying to get to a back window. She knew how drug busts worked; there would be cops surrounding the warehouse, posted at every door and eliminating those as means of escape, which left her with no choice but a window. The breaking of the glass would cause a commotion, but hopefully she would be able to get away before anyone in the GCPD could lay eyes on her. While Roulette was far from a household name (especially in America), the contract killer was still well known enough that, should the police spot a woman while raiding a Bratva operation, some light digging into foreign police databases would allow them to put two and two together quite easily.

_And the red lipstick certainly doesn't help._ With that thought in mind, Anne paused, crouching behind a large, metal storage container as she took off a glove and attempted to wipe the color from her lips. It was hard, as the lipstick was a liquid matte and nearly immovable without makeup remover, but she managed to scrub enough of it off using her fingers and saliva. Replacing the glove, Anne readjusted the coke in her pocket, feeling a small bump in her pants as she did so. _What the fuck?_ Furrowing her brow, she reached into the pocket of her cargo pants only to unearth the earcom Pari had given her all those weeks ago. " _Fuck. Me_."

A thousand thoughts flitted through Anne's mind as she stared at the tiny piece of technology, ignoring the sounds of gunfire exploding behind her as the Bratva men and GCPD exchanged bullets. _Pari betrayed me._ Anger colored her vision, and she felt her teeth clench as she jumped to her feet with a violent grunt. _That fucking bitch tipped the police off._ There was no way Pari could've known ahead of time that Anne would be making a stop at the Gotham docks to buy cocaine, but the girl was a genius, and Anne was sure she had realized that the contract killer was doing _something_ related to the Bratva. And Anne had been fucking stupid enough to forget about the earcom, which allowed Pari to track her even when it was turned off. _I can't believe she's still tracking me. This means she wants me locked the fuck up._ Breathing hard, Anne glanced back towards the garage door of the warehouse, realizing most of the Bratva men had congregated there, including Alexei. _Thank fucking god._ It was what she needed to slip away unnoticed.

Still fuming over Pari's betrayal, and trying to work out the terrifying implications of what it meant, Anne snuck towards one of the back windows. The glass panels were layered with grime and dirt, obscuring most of her view, however she could still see the shapes of what appeared to be SWAT moving in formation to raid the warehouse from behind. _Fuck, guess I'm not breaking a window after all._ The SWAT team would most likely take Alexei and his men by surprise, giving Anne the ability to slip out the back without detection, waiting until the officers had already passed by this way. All she would need to do is remain undetected while SWAT snuck up on the Bratva men. It was easier said than done.

Making a split second decision, Anne stored her Glock away and climbed on top of one of the storage containers. Eyeing the hanging light fixtures, which were turned off at the moment, she calculated the distance between them and the wall against which the storage container was positioned. _Fuck, can I really do this?_ The sound of the SWAT team kicking down the back door made up her mind for her.

She backed up and sprinted at the wall, jumping at the last second and using her momentum to kick off into a spin, aiming for the rectangular light. She caught the edge of it with a single hand, gritting her teeth as she pulled herself up with all the strength she could muster. Wasting no time, Anne laid flat against the back of the light once she was up, praying that it stayed firmly bolted to the ceiling. She was positioned in such a way that the SWAT team would not be able to see her so long as she remained quiet and didn't rock the light.

Holding her breath, she listened to the SWAT team jog underneath her, muttering commands to one another as they got into position to ambush the Bratva men. Anne stared at the nails and metal bolts cementing the light to the ceiling as she waited, keeping her breaths shallow so the men twenty feet below her wouldn't hear. If she was spotted now, she stood no chance of fighting the police off. There were simply too many.

She heard the officers stalk onwards, away from the light she was laying on and towards the front of the warehouse. Tensing up, she turned her head as slowly as she could manage, peering over the edge of the light to make sure they weren't below her anymore. The immediate area appeared clear, however she could still see the backs of the SWAT team weaving in between the massive storage containers. Anne would have to move with extreme caution if she wanted to avoid being captured.

Sitting up steadily, she turned over as soundlessly as she could, eyeing her surroundings and deciding how best to get down from the light, taking both noise and commotion into account. Checking to make sure the officers were still oblivious, she jumped down, deciding to aim for the floor instead of a storage container, as she assumed the impact would make less sound. She hit the cement and rolled, distributing the force so that nothing broke or sprained. _Fuck yeah!_

Anne looked over her shoulder to see that none of the SWAT team members were turning around, meaning presumably none of them had heard her jump. Grinning to herself, Anne sprinted towards the back door, making it outside in no time, blinking against the sunlight. It took her approximately two seconds to realize that she was not the only one out here. Three cops - decidedly _not_ SWAT - were stationed at the back of the warehouse. Anne recognized one of them immediately as Commissioner Gordon. _Oh, for fuck's sake._

"Freeze!" Gordon yelled, and all three of them raised their guns at her. Giving an irritated snort, she launched herself at the officers, knowing she could take down three normal city cops easily. American police academies only trained their men in the rudimentaries of martial arts like krav maga, which left their hand-to-hand combat skills not only predictable, but easily countered. The brick of snow in her pocket weighed her down slightly, but she still liked her chances.

Anne was on the men before they could fire off a shot, much to her relief. A gunshot would only serve to bring more unwanted attention down upon her, and if she was to escape scotch free, she would need to incapacitate Gordon and the two other cops as quickly as she could, leaving the rest of the officers around the warehouse none the wiser.

She grabbed the smallest cop and threw him bodily into Gordon, ducking his punch. While those two were momentarily stunned, she kicked the gun from the third's hand, twirling around and using her momentum to throw him over her shoulder. Another kick to the head left him unconscious. Grabbing the small cop once more, this time from behind, she wrapped her hands around his head and twisted with all her might, snapping his neck and letting him crumple to the ground. Then it was just Gordon.

His hair had become disheveled, and there was noticeable panic in his features, but he raised his gun dutifully all the same. _Really?_ Anne spun on a dime, her foot connecting soldily with Gordon's wrist, forcing him to relinquish his hold on the pistol. It clattered uselessly to the gravel, leaving the aging commissioner more vulnerable than ever. Beaming, Anne flipped forward, swinging both her feet into Gordon's face and knocking him out cold. She landed lightly beside him, taking a moment to catch her breath as she stared down at the commissioner's rather pathetic form, gazing at the blood slowly seeping from his nose and mouth. Suddenly, an idea wriggled it's way into her mind.

Squatting down, Anne brought the earcom out once more. She had been planning on simply throwing it into Gotham's bay, letting the salt water have it. But if she did that, Pari would undoubtedly realize it had been destroyed. From there, it wouldn't take a genius to surmise that Anne had destroyed it because she'd figured out exactly what the hacker was up to. _And once the bitch knows I've caught on, she'll get the fuck outta town._ Pari was smart enough to realize Anne would then be coming after her in revenge, and the girl certainly didn't want a confrontation like that. _Her ass would be out of Gotham by tonight._ However, if Anne merely left the earcom in Gordon's pocket, where he wouldn't find it right away, Pari would assume she was still tracking the contract killer, allowing Anne time to pay her a visit before the hacker could escape her grasp.

With a grin, Anne stored the earcom safely away in Gordon's back pocket, adjusting her ski mask as she stood back up to admire her work. Then, with one last glance at the warehouse door, she inhaled sharply and dove into Gotham's bay.

Her body nearly went into shock as she hit the icy water, plunging down deep and finding the dock wall so she could orient herself. Anne wasn't the greatest swimmer, but she could at least keep herself afloat and she was in good enough shape that her chances of drowning didn't seem high. Still, the sensation of being fully clothed in cold water was deeply unpleasant, and Anne cursed inwardly as she struck out, keeping parallel with the concrete wall. The cocaine weighed her down considerably, but she was somewhat comforted by the fact that the brick was undoubtedly sealed in enough layers of plastic that it wouldn't take any water damage. Her Glock was another story, however, _that_ she would need to clean and oil thoroughly when she made it back to Kat's apartment. Same went for her magazines.

Anne swam for what felt like hours, making it far enough away from the warehouse that she was confident none of the officers would spot her, before dragging her soaked and aching body from the water. She crawled onto one of the gravel roads leading away from the docks, arms and legs shaking from exertion. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest forever, but she knew she had to leave the area as soon as possible, and that meant making the hour long trek back to Kat's apartment while dripping wet.

Groaning, Anne made it to her feet, staggering into a nearby alleyway when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel. She sat down behind a dumpster while the car drove by, panting and leaning her head against the brick wall. She had forgotten how much energy swimming took, and doing it fully clothed was nothing short of hell. As she sat there, catching her breath, it truly hit her how fucked she was. She had fallen out with Pari _and_ Kat, and while Pari was undoubtedly the greater threat of the two, Anne was currently relying much more on Kat, and losing the friendship could prove disastrous. Not only that, but Anne had absolutely no idea whether Alexei was going to attempt to kill her now or not, or even if he was still alive following the shootout with the GCPD. _And Gordon fucking saw me._ While she doubted the commissioner had realized in the moment that she was the same person whom Batman had encountered twice, it was most likely only a matter of time before he found out. Everything Anne was hung in the balance.

_And Roulette? What about her?_ Roulette meant more to Anne than anything else ever had, it was the culmination of years of determination and effort. The alias had gained her respect, power, infamy, and a reputation. It was everything she had ever wanted in life, since the day her father had sold her to the Falcone family. But now, she felt as though Roulette's very existence was threatened. Too many hostile parties held enough information to completely undermine what Anne had worked years building up. If she lost Roulette, she lost everything.

With a cry of anger and frustration, she beat her fist against the alley pavement, wishing she had her Marlboros with her. _I've fucked it all up. I was a dumb fucking bitch to think I could ever break away from everything my father made me into._ Clenching her jaw, she jumped up and began kicking the dumpster as hard as she could, ignoring the shooting pains in her foot. She kept it up for a long while before exhaustion forced her into stopping. Breathing hard, she leaned her forehead against the rim of the dumpster. Much to her chagrin, she felt a stinging in her eyes and she squeezed them shut tightly, pushing her emotions down as far as they would go. With one last sigh, she straightened back up and began the long walk back to Kat's apartment. _It'll be a fucking miracle if I live to see next year._

It took an hour before the apartment complex came into view, and Anne was shivering uncontrollably by that point. The sun had set, and darkness was beginning to descend upon Gotham, allowing the city to truly come alive. Anne was glad she had made it to the apartment before the night had fully begun, as she didn't have the energy in her to fight off any would-be muggers or rapists.

Limping slightly, she climbed up the fire escape, peering through the window to make sure her friend was nowhere in sight before hobbling into the apartment. Ripping her ski mask off, Anne first walked into the bathroom, wanting to grab a towel to dry off. However, when she caught sight of her face in the mirror she nearly forgot everything else. The water had smeared her makeup beyond recognition; it almost looked as though she was copying the Joker's signature look. Her eyeliner and mascara had run together to form rings of black around her eyes, and more of the makeup had dripped down her cheeks into what looked like tear stains. Her lips were still tinged red from the remnants of her lipstick, and even that color had bled around the corners of her mouth, creating a ghastly crimson smile. _This isn't Roulette. This is someone else entirely._

Pulling her hair from it's ponytail, she continued to take in the new look while she toweled her hair dry, making sure to leave the makeup intact. Once she had drunk her fill of the reflection, she wandered back into the hallway, casting a glance at Kat's closed door and deciding the girl was probably asleep. Or dead. _Good riddance._ Silently, she crept over to her own room, gazing at the smiley face for a minute before entering.

"You _called_?"

It took all of Anne's willpower not to scream as her eyes locked onto the Joker. He was sitting in her desk chair, completely decked out in clown paint and a purple three-piece. His black eyes crinkled in amusement while he took in her shock, and, beneath that, her obvious excitement and joy.

Closing the door softly behind her, Anne cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are ya here to kill me, Mr. J?"

His head turned to the side at that and she could see his tongue working along the inside of his mouth, running up and down the scars. "I, uh, _think_ you're already dead. Hmm?" J raised his brows at her, but didn't wait for a response before continuing. "So, Rou- _lette_ ," he drew out the syllables in her alias, the word sending shivers down Anne's spine, "you've been _quite_ the busy girl." She unzipped her sweatshirt as he talked, pulling out the coke and tossing it onto her bed. The Joker barely cast it a second glance, instead focusing on the contract killer with an inhuman intensity. "I can see why the Bratva sent you to kill me. Ya caused, ah, a bit of a _stir_ in Europe." He leaned his elbows onto his knees while Anne pulled her Glock out of it's holster, not even bothering to point it his way. Instead, she merely ejected the magazine and emptied the chamber before setting it on her desk. "And at what? Eighteen?"

"Twenty," she corrected, far past caring how much this man knew about her. He was either going to kill her or she was going to join him, there was no third option to Anne. The Joker was her one light at the end of a _very_ dark tunnel. He could provide the more she always wanted; more than the money, power, and glory which Roulette had given her. And if Roulette truly was dead or dying, then Anne needed to find something else to replace it with. Somehow, she knew the Joker could give that to her.

' _Twenty?_ ' J mouthed the word at her in mock-disbelief, the comical expression making Anne grin against her will. She turned her back on him in an attempt to hide it, pulling her sweatshirt and holster off and placing them beside her cocaine.

"You've been researching me, huh?" Anne spoke still facing away from him. "Did ya like whatcha found?"

She heard the Joker shifting in his chair, presumably turning so he could watch her more easily, keeping track of her every movement. Anne, somehow, didn't mind. "Your, uh, _track record_?" J's voice was characteristically nasally, the pitch alternating wildly with each word. "It's pretty good, dollface. Which _then_ begs the question… why couldn't ya, um," he cleared his throat, "kill _me_?" His tone was innocuous enough, but Anne heard the mockery and arrogance for what it truly was. The Joker knew _exactly_ what he was doing, even if he was pretending to play innocent.

Anne turned to face him once more, a smile forcing its way onto her face as she took in his exaggeratedly curious expression. "Ya know why, Mr. J. You clocked it the second I walked into your cell." She stepped closer to him, her heart beginning to pound as it always did. "I want _more_. You were right, the mob is just as bad as everyone else. I was a fucking idiot not to have seen it sooner. But _you_ knew the truth." She paused, thinking back to Kat and all the others who had betrayed her. "I think ya might be the only one in this fucking city who does."

At her words, Anne swore she saw a glint of something dark appear in the Joker's eyes, but she couldn't be sure. "Is that why ya called me, _hmm_?" J grinned, the action predatory. "Be _cause_ you want more?"

"I want to join you," Anne moved even closer, her legs practically brushing the Joker's knees as her eyes widened in earnest. "Mr. J, I'm good at what I do. I bet ya could find use for me."

J made a noise in the back of his throat as he narrowed his gaze, calculating her. Then, without warning, he shot up, one of his hands grabbing Anne's wrist and whipping her around so that her legs slammed into the desk, effectively pinning her. The other hand came up and ensnared itself in her hair, pulling tight and making the contract killer hiss in pain. She didn't fight back, instead she continued to give the Joker her undivided attention. From this close, the smell of him was almost overpowering, mixing gasoline and paint with the pungent scent of sweat and body odor. Anne knew she should be repulsed, but she couldn't find the disgust within her. It was _the_ _Joker's_ smell, and therefore she liked it.

"I, uh… _don't_ think that's all ya want, doll," his voice had turned into a growl, low and guttural, and Anne felt her mouth go dry. There was something distinctly malicious in his pinprick pupils as he stared at her, face slack. "Besides, why - why should I trust you? Hmm?" J's head cocked to the side and Anne watched his tongue slip out to lick his scars. "You've been _paid_ to kill me." His tone returned to it's normal, high-pitched self.

"If I really wanted to kill ya, I would've already." Anne held her hands up, as if to show proof that she wasn't holding any weapons. She was utterly at his mercy. "And I think the same goes for you, _Mr. J_."

Narrowing his eyes, the Joker relinquished his grasp on her hair, slowly sitting back into the chair. Anne watched him intently, waiting for a cue as to what her next move should be. She didn't have to wait long. "Then, uh…" J trailed off, taking the time to adjust his overcoat, "why don'tcha tell me which one of these _little girls_ is really you?" He cocked his head at her, producing a handful of passports from his coat pocket. Anne immediately recognized them as belonging to several of her fake identities. _How the fuck did he find all those?_ She wondered, boosting herself up to take a seat on the desk. They had, for obvious reasons, not all been stored in one place, which meant the Joker must've combed through her room inch by inch. The thought didn't unnerve her _nearly_ as much as it should've.

"None of them." It wasn't a lie; only two of the passports were even American, and neither of them were in the name Anne Lynn. "I don't exist anywhere on paper," she continued with a half-grin, "I'm a ghost." She refrained from adding ' _just like you_ ', knowing a comparison between them would likely do nothing but insult J and result in him turning violent.

"A ghost?" The Joker echoed, setting her passports aside. "How 'bout ya tell me a… _ghost_ story?" His voice lowered, turning into a growl that narrowed Anne's gaze, while at the same time pulling at the corners of her lips.

"What kinda ghost story?" She questioned, bracing her hands against the desk and leaning towards the Joker as he lounged back, surveying her carefully. A tiny, malicious smile curled at his red mouth.

" _Surprise me_ ," he snarled, tongue slipping out. Anne realized that this was a test, whatever story she decided to tell would color his view of her forever, and most likely determine whether or not the Joker killed her or allowed her to join him.

"Whatever ya say, Mr. J." She grinned at him, an idea blooming into her brain. "Wanna know how I got _my_ scars?" She couldn't be sure, but Anne thought she saw a glimmer of surprise in J's blackened eyes at her question. While researching the clown in Russia, Anne had come upon an anecdote about him recalling the story of his scars to his victims, each time changing the details. She had latched onto it immediately.

"Of course." The mockery was potent, even when the Joker spoke so softly.

"Well," Anne began without further ado, "as I'm sure ya already guessed, my father wasn't the greatest guy. He's a fucking cunt, actually. Made my childhood a living nightmare." She paused, winking at the Joker. "I'll leave the details to your imagination, Mr. J, but suffice it to say I was unhappy. So one day when I was eleven, I opened my veins up," she mimed cutting upwards on both her arms, but left the sleeves of her shirt down, so that J couldn't see any scars. "I wanted to end the nightmare." She shrugged. "It didn't work, my mom found me before I could bleed out completely, and my father called one of his mob friends who knew a doctor to stitch me up. The next morning, dear old dad slapped me awake... and ya wanna know what the bastard said?" The Joker leaned in close, feigning interest. "He said, 'Next time use a gun.'" Finishing, she smiled broadly, tapping the Glock beside her. "So now I use one."

"Ah, very _touching_ ," the Joker began, standing up and closing the distance between them. He leaned against the desk, forcing Anne to scoot backwards, spine against the wall. "But _not_ very convincing." Suddenly, J grabbed her face, a switchblade appearing magically in his gloved hand. Anne's heart rate elevated, but in her heightened state, she couldn't _quite_ decipher as to the reason why. " _Sorry_ , doll, but it seems like our little… _game_ is over."

Before his fist could tighten around the knife's hilt, however, Anne grinned and brought her arm up, pulling the shirt sleeve back to reveal pale flesh. While there were plenty of scars puckering the skin, none of them were the result of a suicide attempt, that much was clear. It had all been a lie. "Origin stories are overrated, don't ya think?"

The Joker pulled back, his gaze flicking between Anne's arm and her face. Slowly, he broke into a laugh. " _Oooh_ , you… you almost had me fooled," he crooned, sardonically shaking his knife at her. "I, uh, _thought_ I was going to have to - to _kill_ you." Anne snickered, realizing she had passed the test. By making a mockery of the assumption that people like them had to have a haunting backstory which detailed exactly _why_ they act the way they do, she had demonstrated her own disdain for society's rules and beliefs. She had shown the Joker that she wanted to join him because she truly agreed with what _he_ stood for: anarchy. "But I _am_ gonna have to keep a close eye on you, _hmm_?" He leaned forward, and for a split second Anne thought he was going to kiss her, but he only stared, a dark grin settling over his features.

"As close as ya want," she offered, finding that she couldn't keep her eyes off his lips.

Snorting at her words, the Joker stored his knife away and sat back down. "Now, uh, tell me for _real_ this time, babydoll." J met her gaze, his voice becoming less theatrical as a seriousness came over him. Or as close to serious as he could get. "What's your name?"

Anne realized he wanted as much information about her as possible, to test whether the contract killer truly _did_ mean to join him. If she gave away her name freely, Anne was handing the Joker even more power over her, and thereby ensuring that she remained under his control. _If I tell J my name, he'll own me._ She didn't hesitate.

"Anne Lynn." The Joker raised his brow minutely, but Anne couldn't read the expression. "Ya won't find me in any databases, though. In the eyes of the feds I'm not real." There was a pause. "Roulette is," she added, "but not me."

"I _see_." J made a noise in the back of his throat as he rose once more, squinting comically at Anne while he placed his hands on either side of the desk, leaning forward. "And you _want_ to be real, _don't ya_?" He spat the last part out, the words almost manic. "You want to be real, but you're so… _caught up_ in your little mob world, ya can't even _tell_ what reality is anymore." The Joker pretended to _tsk_ at her, shaking his head with the usual theatrics.

"Then show me," Anne pressed, practically begging. She was beyond desperate to have him accept her. "You're the only one who can, J. I know that now."

"You do?" The Joker prompted, pulling a skeptical expression. However, when she nodded, the look was immediately changed into a predatory smile. " _Good_." There was a sudden, blinding pain on the side of Anne's head, and then the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Sorry for how long it took me to get this chapter up! I'm hoping I can get the next one up in two weeks, but that one is also going to be pretty substantial, so apologies ahead of time. Did I go back and change GPD to GCPD after re-watching The Dark Knight and realizing I fucked it up the first time? Yessir!
> 
> Up Next: When the Joker is your only hope, you know you're fucked.


	9. Angel Born in Hell

**Angel Born in Hell**

" _Walk in the way of my soft resurrection._

_Idol of roses, iconic soul,_

_I know your name._

_Lead me to war with your brilliant direction._ "

- **Bel Air** , Lana Del Rey

* * *

"Another late night, Master Wayne?" Alfred's voice jerked Bruce back to the present, and he turned to watch the butler set his breakfast down on one of the work tables. No doubt the man had been exasperated to find Bruce not in his bed.

"As a matter of fact, yes," he replied, clicking a button on his keyboard to bring the Joker's mugshot onto a monitor. "I thought I would be able to retire after I took the fall for Dent, but ever since the Joker broke out of Arkham, things have gotten worse." He grimaced, thinking back to the woman he had found in the clown's cell the night of the escape. "Much worse."

"Well," Alfred came to stare at the Joker's mugshot, "you couldn't have anticipated the Joker's escape. No one did."

"I know." Bruce sighed, closing out of the mugshot and instead pulling up stills from the security cameras in the parking garage Katarina Nord had been taken to. The photos were grainy and from too great a distance for him to make out any true details, but they still provided a silhouette of the woman whose identity he had been attempting to discover for almost two weeks now. "I didn't anticipate _her_ either."

"The mystery woman?" The butler inquired, returning his focus to Bruce, who gave a nod. "Any leads yet, sir?"

"Only Nord." Bruce had been investigating Katarina Nord ever since his conversation with her at the MCU. He was sure that, somehow, someway, she knew the mystery woman and was most likely protecting her. However, Katarina's whereabouts were proving almost as hard to locate as the mystery woman herself.

"The young woman who the Joker kidnapped?" Alfred once again cast his gaze to the computer monitors, watching as Bruce pulled up the most recent picture of Katarina he could find: a mugshot. "It's a miracle she's still alive."

"She wasn't the real target," he explained, pointing once more to the security camera stills. "The other woman was. I think the Joker kidnapped Nord to lure the woman to him. Her and Nord are connected, they _have_ to be, I just don't know how yet." _How does the Joker know and I don't? What am I missing?_

"Then it's a miracle the mystery woman is still alive," Alfred amended with the ghost of a smile.

"No, she knew I was coming that night." Bruce furrowed his brow. "She has to be the one who tipped the police off. I thought it was Nord, but she knew nothing about it."

"Are you sure?" Alfred cocked a brow at Katarina's picture. "If you will allow it, sir, a word of advice." Bruce nodded without hesitation, always ready to accept the man's council. "Don't be deceived by looks, even young women who look like that are capable of terrible things."

Bruce snorted. "She's a kid, Alfred. Nord's only nineteen."

" _Really_?" The butler looked shocked. "How on earth is a child caught up in all of this?" He motioned broadly to the computer monitors, which held an array of police files and criminal photographs.

"Exactly what I want to find out," Bruce cleared his throat. "At first I thought the woman was Nord's sister," he pulled up a file containing all known information on the twenty-seven year old Margarita Nord, the elder of the Nord sisters. "But she's clean. In fact, she's the only one in the family who is."

Alfred made a noise in the back of his throat. "The Nords are a criminal family?"

"Yes." Bruce had been rather surprised to find out that Katarina came from a mob family, she merely hadn't seemed the type. However, after researching her more extensively, he had realized that her involvement with Gotham's underworld made more sense than he initially thought. Nord had a rap sheet; several stints in a juvenile detention center for possession of illicit substances, physical assault, and petty theft. Her last offence had been in 2008, but she hadn't served any time for it, just a fine for being found with marijuana.

"Her father, Gus Nord, specializes in extortion and racketeering. He was a known associate of Carmine Falcone." His frown deepened as he searched for the rest of the family. "The brothers are all involved too. One of them is in Blackgate serving a life sentence for murder in the first degree, and the other two are out on parole."

"Perhaps Miss Nord is staying with one of them?" The butler offered.

"That was my first instinct too, but then I found this." Bruce pulled up a current police file.

"Robert Stallone, sir?" Alfred sounded perplexed. "He's the drug kingpin, isn't he?"

"Yeah, one of the few who remained after the Joker's reign of terror." He pulled up the list of known associates for Stallone, and zoomed in on Katarina's name. "She's his mistress, Alfred. She works at one of the stripclubs he owns." He clicked a few more keys. "And look at this. Stallone rents out an apartment in Midtown despite already owning several houses in the city." He leaned back in his chair. "What use does he have for a Midtown apartment?"

"You think that's where Miss Nord is?" Alfred made his way back over to where Bruce's breakfast was growing cold. "I'd be careful, Master Wayne, if she really is caught up with the Joker, it could be a trap."

"You're right." He gave a nod, but deep down Bruce had his own misgivings about Katarina's involvement. Sure, she had a rap sheet, but minor offences were much different than colluding with the most notorious madman in the city. He had a feeling, if it was Nord's choice, she would never interact with the Joker again. However, Bruce also realized that the mystery woman must've had the girl wound tightly around her finger, since Katarina appeared to be protecting her. And he was almost positive the woman and the Joker were not finished with each other yet. The simple fact that they appeared to be actively antagonizing the other without going so far as to outright kill was both astounding and alarming. It didn't bode well for Gotham.

"Have you seen this, sir?" Bruce turned to see Alfred extending the morning Gotham Times to him. "It appears the Russian mafia is back in town."

"The Bratva?" He narrowed his gaze at the front cover, which showed a picture of Commissioner Gordon and a few detectives standing in front of the drugs they had intercepted at the docks. Intrigued, Bruce took a hold of the paper, spreading it out and beginning to read the news story. It mentioned how several Russian men, working for the Solntsevskaya Bratva, had been arrested during the drug bust, but that some had escaped and remained at large. It appeared run-of-the-mill to Bruce, before his eyes caught hold of a single sentence, near the end.

"There was a woman." He straightened up immediately, hunkering closer to the paper.

"Pardon?"

"There was a woman, Alfred. At the drug bust." Bruce flattened the paper with a hand, indicating the sentence to his butler. "' _Authorities attempted to apprehend a masked woman as she exited through the back of the warehouse, however, after an altercation with Commissioner James Gordon and two officers, the woman escaped police custody_ ,'" he read off. "' _She is considered armed and dangerous._ '"

"You don't think…?" Alfred turned to Bruce, a knowing gleam in his gaze.

"Yes," he grinned, "I do."

* * *

Anne awoke to a throbbing pain on the side of her head and a stinging in her neck. Groaning, she forced her eyes to open. Noticing approximately two seconds later that the world wouldn't quite focus, no matter how hard she tried. _Am I fucking high?_ However, as she slowly began to remember what had happened in the moments prior to her blacking out, Anne realized she most likely wasn't high, but rather concussed. The thought was deeply discomforting, as a concussion could prove fatal for someone like her.

_The Joker._ Finally registering that the clown had been the one to knock her out, Anne shot up, adrenaline coursing through her veins as every instinct within her screamed that she was in danger. _Where is he?_ As she took in her surroundings through a dizzy, unoriented gaze, another thought took center stage. _And where the fuck am I?_ She wasn't in Kat's apartment anymore, that much was clear. She had been placed on a naked, musty mattress which smelled revolting, like noxious chemicals mixed with pungent body odor. _Just like J._ The mattress was situated in what appeared to be an abandoned office building, with empty cubicles and office equipment on all sides.

More confused than before, Anne attempted to stand up, only to find the world was spinning even more than she initially thought. Her feet went out from underneath her and she collapsed onto the hard, scratchy carpet. The fall made her nauseous and a moment later she puked, barely missing her own shaking hands.

Scrunching her nose as the smell began to hit her, Anne dry heaved a couple more times, her stomach completely empty and yet still trying to find something to expel. Eventually, the queasiness subsided and, panting, Anne struggled to her feet. She had to hold onto the cubicles' walls to remain upright, but it was better than nothing. Looking around, her gaze caught hold of a blueish light coming from within one of the cubicles, like a computer screen had been turned on. Intrigued, Anne began to stagger towards it, belatedly realizing that her clothes were still damp from the swim she had taken in Gotham's bay, making her not only in pain but also deeply uncomfortable.

She made it the light source in no time, finding that it _was_ in fact a working computer. There was no one using it however, which made Anne cast a suspicious glance around, checking for the Joker, as she was almost certain he was nearby. _What the fuck, Mr. J?_ Furrowing her brow against the brightness, Anne crept nearer to the screen, begging her eyesight to focus.

"Looking for something?" The Joker's voice nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. As it was, Anne jumped and spun so quickly that she stumbled into the cubicle wall. Straightening back up, she narrowed her eyes, taking in the Joker. He was still in full paint, but without his overcoat and suit jacket. His shirt sleeves had even been rolled up to the elbow, an act which struck her as strange when seen on a man like him.

"You just gave me a fucking heart attack," she gasped, clutching at the wall as the world continued to spin ever-so-slightly.

"Ah, _no_ ," J corrected, sending her a malicious grin. "I gave ya a concussion."

"That too," Anne agreed. "Where the fuck are we? And why does my neck hurt?" She reached a hand up to feel the side of her neck, where a small bump, painful to the touch, was raised.

"As fun as our little game of hide-and-seek _was…_ I felt like it was time we grew up." The Joker stalked closer to her, his black eyes taking in her filthy and exhausted form with distinct pleasure. "Wouldn't you _agree_?" His tongue flicked out as he spoke, giving Anne a glimpse of vividly yellow teeth.

"What?" Anne shook her head, as though trying to clear it. "What are ya talking about?"

" _This_ way," J leaned down so that his face was level with the contract killer, one of his gloved hands reaching up to grab her chin in an iron grip, "you'll never be able to hide from me again."

Suddenly Anne understood. "You put a tracker in me?" The question was rhetorical, the Joker's grin told her exactly what she needed to know. In her concussed state, however, the contract killer didn't quite understand the gravity of that fact. "Like I'm a pet…" She trailed off, her vision beginning to spot.

"Now, now," J wagged his finger at her, "don't think of it like _that_. Think of it - think of it more as…" He waved a hand around, eyes darting as he pretended to search for his words, " _insurance_." He smiled broadly, with an accompanying noise in the back of his throat. It was clear he enjoyed mocking Anne like this, lying to her so openly with the dramatic flair he had perfected.

"Insurance," Anne repeated back dutifully. Her mind was growing fuzzier and fuzzier as she stood there, trying to remain upright. "Just… where are we, Mr. J?" She pried again, ignoring the ringing which had begun in her ears.

"The Narrows," J replied. "Batman has been looking for that kitty cat of yours." The Joker bared his teeth as he pronounced 'kitty', his tone disdainful. "It was, uh, only a matter of time before he found out where you lived. _So_ ," he spread his arms wide, "being the… _magnanimous_ guy I am, I had ya brought here. Along with alllll your little toys."

Deciding to refrain from telling the Joker that Anne, in fact, had _no_ idea what 'magnanimous' meant, she instead asked, "How the fuck did ya have time for all that?" She thought for a beat, then added, "And my guns? Where are they?" She felt far too exposed without her Glock beside her.

"Well," the Joker scrunched his face as he spoke, the comical expression making Anne giggle against her will, half-delirious from the concussion, "you _have_ been out cold for, ohhhh five hours?" He cocked a brow, pretending to think, then nodded once. "Five hours," he confirmed. "As to your _second_ question, don't worry 'bout it, doll."

"No." The words were tumbling out of Anne's mouth before she could stop them, feeling deeply and utterly out of control. "No, J, I need my Glock, ya don't understand. I need it. It's… I need…" She was struggling to keep her eyes open now, and the darkness had begun to close in on her mind. She couldn't think, and she could barely talk. _He must've hit me really fucking hard_ , Anne thought before the ground came rushing up to meet her.

Dimly, through the darkness, Anne was aware of the Joker scooping her up, chuckling all the while at his good work, and striding back towards the mattress. She grasped weakly at his vest, swallowing as she attempted to speak. "I need… cigs…" she managed. "Marlboros." Even concussed, the brand was important to Anne.

"I'm not a _doctor_ ," the Joker replied slowly, almost as if he was talking to a particularly dumb child, "but I'd say ya need rest."

When J reached the reeking mattress, he tossed her onto it unceremoniously. The jostling sensation sent another wave of nausea over Anne and she turned onto her side and dry-heaved, breaking into a cold sweat at the exertion. The Joker cackled as he watched, clearly enjoying her evident misery. Then, without another word to her, he returned to the commandeered cubicle, leaving Anne to slip back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Anne and the Joker stayed in the abandoned office complex for three long days. Anne spent most of her hours sleeping, working through the serious concussion and inwardly cursing J for immobilizing her so effectively, while the Joker filled most of his time by wandering around the city, only returning to the building for a few hours every night. This meant the two hardly saw each other, leaving Anne with nothing to do but brood over her current helplessness. In her concussed state she couldn't risk going out into Gotham, her instincts were too dulled and her body didn't respond the way she needed it to. It almost felt as though a superpower had been ripped away from her. _I'm more vulnerable now than I have been in five years._

Of course, Anne had weathered concussions before, but never during such a pivotal time in her life. Now, everything hung in the balance. She was in a state of limbo, not quite out of the Bratva and yet certainly not still in it. Not certain of her position in the Joker's crew, but also slowly beginning to realize that Mr. J wouldn't kill her at the moment unless she provoked him. The precariousness of the entire situation added to Anne's growing annoyance at being stuck in bed, unable to get any information which she might find useful. She had _no_ idea whether Alexei had escaped police custody, and, if he had, whether or not he was looking for her. The contract killer was also at a loss for what had happened to Kat, whether Batman had ever actually showed up to her apartment, and, if so, what her friend had told the flying mammal man. _And, to top it all off, Pari is probably fucking gone._

Out of everything that irritated Anne about her current predicament, the most infuriating part was the fact that Pari had most likely fled Gotham, out of the contract killer's immediate reach. _The bitch betrayed me and I just let her go!_ Anne knew she couldn't let Pari get away in the long run, not only did the girl know too much but, on a personal level, Anne wanted her dead. However, that particular desire would have to go on the back burner for the moment. There were more pressing concerns that needed the contract killer's attention. Foremost among them: staying alive. Anne, despite what some might think, wasn't an idiot. She was smart enough not to mistake her current truce with the Joker for permanent safety. He was the most dangerous man in the city, and while Anne had spent her entire life surrounded by dangerous men, none had been as unpredictable and intelligent as J. And none had ever overpowered her so completely.

All her assets, all her years spent training and perfecting the art of assasination, had come down to nothing after the Joker had gotten into her head. He had taken one look at her, all those nights ago in Arkham, and pinpointed her desire for more with terrifying accuracy. _I had no idea I was so transparent._ Even with her ski mask on, Mr. J had seen her for who she truly was, even more clearly than she saw herself. _And what did he see, exactly? Who am I?_ Anne had never known who she was, not really. She had thought she was Roulette, but now she realized that had merely been a dream, a false hope. Sure, Roulette had been fun, but it wasn't a persona she had chosen for herself. It had been given to her, created for her. It hadn't been _her_. And now, she was becoming more and more convinced that only the Joker would be able to tell her who she really was.

"Here." Anne jolted from her stupor as a pack of Marlboros and a lighter smacked her in the head. Next, the Joker wandered into view, coming to sit criss-cross-applesauce beside the mattress, his painted face leering at Anne as she struggled to get up.

"Thanks, honey," she grinned through her genuine surprise, beyond grateful that J had finally given into her request for cigarettes. She hadn't had one since the Joker brought her to the office complex and Anne had long given up trying to distinguish which of her painful symptoms were from nicotine withdrawal and which were from her concussion.

The Joker ignored her, clearing his throat before speaking. "Thomas. Lynn." The poignancy with which J spoke made it seem as though each word was its own, separate sentence.

The sound of her father's name stilled Anne's hand, which had been reaching up to light her cigarette. She raised her eyes to meet the Joker's gaze, finding something akin to satisfaction gleaming in the tiny, black pupils. "How'd ya find him?" She managed weakly, finally lighting her Marlboro and inhaling deeply.

"He's your, uh, _father_ ," J continued, once again pretending Anne hadn't spoken. She could tell he was watching her with a hawklike intensity, waiting to see if his prod had hurt her in any way and, if it had, how he could use it to hurt her more in the future.

"Uh huh." The words were accompanied by a stream of smoke, drifting into the silver moonlight and clouding the air. "Did you kidnap him or something?" Anne tried as hard as she could to remain still, dropping her eyes so that the Joker couldn't see the potent mix of emotions broiling within them.

She heard him lick his scarred lips before replying. "What would ya do if I said yes?"

"I'd ask that ya let me kill the bastard." There was no waver in her voice, and she met the Joker's gaze once more to show her sincerity. "I wanna make sure he fucking dies screaming."

J stared at her for a long, deathly silent moment, his features slack as he took in Anne's face. The contract killer held her breath, suddenly wary that she had done something to annoy or displease him. _Fuck, is he gonna kill me?_ However, a mere second after the thought passed through her head, the Joker broke into manic, uncontrollable laughter. " _Oooh hooo_ ," he cackled wildly, "ya really _do_ hate him, dontcha doll?"

_What the fuck…?_ Anne furrowed her brow, realizing she may have just been put through another one of J's endless tests. _What does my father have to do with it?_ Maybe the Joker had been worried that Anne wasn't serious about joining him, maybe he had wanted to see whether there was a chance her loyalties could ever lie with Tom Lynn. "Ya don't have him, do you?" She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but the gleam in J's eye told her he noticed.

" _Nope_." He cocked his head to the side, glancing at her with one of his signature, comical expressions. "I wanted to see how you'd react. You did _beautifully_." The Joker shot her a yellow smile, one which did not reach his eyes. Anne snorted, letting the cigarette smoke drift out of her nose.

"Ya don't even trust me a little bit, huh Mr. J?" She grinned, the question clearly rhetorical. However, the Joker took it upon himself to respond anyway.

"You think I don't _trust_ you? Hmm?" He raised his blackened brows, tone utterly mocking. "And why… would ya think _that_?" The sarcasm made it clear that she wasn't supposed to answer.

"I trust _you_ , in a way," Anne said, the statement surprising even herself. "I trust that ya know who I am." She met his eyes. "And that you can teach me how to see things clearly."

"Do you?" The Joker's voice changed, and for half a second Anne thought she could see the human in him; his tone less theatrical, his face expressing honestly. But then she blinked, and the clown had returned. "Never put your, uh, faith in anyone, _Anne_." The sound of her name - her _real_ name - in his mouth sent shivers up her spine. "You're bound to be… to be disappointed."

Anne didn't know how to respond to that, so she simply dropped her gaze and returned her focus to the Marlboro. The silence stretched between them, the Joker staring at her with an inhuman intensity, presumably analyzing every miniscule emotion crossing her face, while the contract killer merely smoked, trying to ignore all the thoughts crowding into her brain. After a time, she broke the stillness with a question, her voice so soft it was practically a murmur. "Ya know the Bratva is still after you, right?"

"I'd be _offended_ if they weren't." The Joker didn't even crack a smile as he spoke, his mouth twisting upwards in a pondering look. "But yeah, I know. They didn't just send your little, uh, _handler_ either." He _did_ grin at that, drinking in the shock spreading across Anne's face. "Seems like Roulette isn't the only killer the Bratva contracts with."

"How do ya know about Alexei?" The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. The Joker widened his grin at her obvious panic, taking a moment to soak it in before responding.

"A good magician never reveals his secrets." He contorted his face into a mockingly apologetic look, but Anne could still see the arrogant glint in his black eyes. He enjoyed this, slowly revealing to the contract killer that he knew more about her than she could've possibly imagined.

" _Huh_ ," Anne sucked on her teeth, surveying the Joker through a narrowed gaze, as a sudden thought popped into her mind. She debated with herself for a moment before speaking up, deciding whether or not the question she was about to ask would get her killed or seriously injured. She was pretty sure it wouldn't, but you could never tell with J. "You knew who I was the second I walked into your cell, didn't ya?"

The Joker's red smile told Anne all she needed to know. "Well, as they say, your _reputation_? It precedes you."

A laugh, short and abrupt, escaped her. "You fucking bastard!" _He knew I was Roulette all along, he just wanted to make me say it._ Anne straightened up, not even bothering to hide her beaming smile. _He's been one step ahead this entire time._ "I was so fucking stupid to ever think I could kill ya."

"Uh, _you_ said it, not me." The Joker raised his hands in a sardonically placating gesture, before hopping to his feet. "C'mon, doll, we got places to be."

Anne's eyes widened and she threw her cigarette butt to the side. "We're finally leaving?" She staggered to her own feet, feeling only slightly unsteady after three days of rest.

"You _can_ walk around without passing out now?" J asked, cocking a brow at her. Anne nodded. "Then come on, the van's out front." He turned and began walking through the maze of cubicles, not even bothering to pause and see if Anne was following. Furrowing her brow, she rushed after him, pulling out another Marlboro and lighting it for the road.

The Joker led the way through the decayed, moldy hallways of the abandoned complex; Anne doing her best to keep pace and smoke at the same time. They arrived at the front entrance quickly, pushing through the double doors and onto the streets of the Narrows, which were dimly lit and mostly barren. On the street corner closest to the office building, a dented, windowless van was parked, with a single man leaning against the passenger side door.

He nodded to the Joker when he saw them emerge from the building, banging on the van's metal side before hopping back into the front of the vehicle. A minute later, the van's back doors were being flung open and J was directing Anne their way. Painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, between the fact that she was weaponless _and_ still working through a serious concussion, the contract killer reluctantly clambered into the back of the van behind the Joker.

It took approximately five seconds before something went wrong. As Anne looked around at the assembled henchmen in the back of the van, one caught her eye instantaneously. It was the man who had punched her in the face the night of Kat's kidnapping, following her attack on him. He must've recognized Anne too, because he inhaled sharply upon laying eyes on her, her features discernible even beneath the four-day-old makeup.

"What's this bitch doing here, boss?" The henchman snarled, glaring at Anne with open contempt. She sent him a wide grin.

The Joker paused at this question, closing the van's backdoors before shooting the man a stoney look. He reached down, grabbed the henchman's head and smashed it into the wall. The man cried out in agony, clutching at his bruised and bloodied face as the Joker straightened back up, adjusting his clothing with a mocking delicacy. " _Don't_ be rude," he admonished, speaking like one would to a naughty child. "This is Roulette." As he spoke, his hand snaked behind Anne and grabbed her roughly by the scruff of the neck, pulling her alongside him. Anne gritted her teeth against the pain, but said nothing. "She, uh, belongs to _me_." With that, he shoved her violently towards one of the van's benches.

Rubbing her neck ruefully, Anne sat herself down at the very end of the bench, as far away from any of the other henchmen as possible. The Joker shot her an amused look, before pounding on the van's ceiling and taking up a seat of his own beside her. As the vehicle purred to life and began rumbling through the Narrows, J reached beneath his seat, producing something heavy which he plopped in Anne's lap. It was her Glock and shoulder holster.

"Shit, thanks Mr. J." She gasped, grinning wildly as she inspected both the gun and holster for injuries. Anne was incredibly surprised that the Joker trusted her enough to give her back her favored Glock, but she wasn't about to complain. Instead, she quickly pulled the holster over her old, reeking clothing, relishing the relief which flooded through her as the gun's familiar weight pressed against her side.

Now, feeling far more at ease, Anne took the opportunity to survey the scene in the van, counting the number of henchmen and deciding how much of a threat they posed to her. There were six in the back - not including herself or the Joker - and two more up front, all of whom were male and appeared to be in their twenties, with arrogant eyes and tattooed arms. Despite this, it was clear none of them felt comfortable casting a glance her way. But Anne assumed that had more to do with the fact that in order to look at _her_ they would also have to openly stare at _the Joker_ , than it had to do with their fear of Anne personally. She didn't mind being ignored, she was long past being irked by it, however it did make it exponentially harder to cipher out which henchmen hated her right off the bat. _My money's on that asshole who's now rocking a concussion of his own._

The man whom the Joker had hit was hunkered down on the bench opposite Anne, bleeding silently and clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles were visibly white. With a private smirk, she brought the cigarette back up to her lips, inhaling deeply in an attempt to counteract the furious and relentless beating of her heart, which had begun the moment the Joker had sat himself beside her, so close their legs were pressed together.

After about thirty minutes of driving, the van finally rolled to a stop, and when the back doors were opened Anne saw they had parked outside what seemed to be yet _another_ abandoned building, this time a warehouse of sorts. The henchmen jogged out of the back obediently, and a sharp prod from the Joker told Anne to do the same. On high alert, she hopped out of the van, glancing around the second her feet hit gravel. They were still in the Narrows, that much was evident from the dilapidated buildings all around, but Anne didn't recognize the specific area. She scrunched her nose in irritation, realizing that _now_ , escaping (should it be required) had suddenly become much harder.

As she stood there, in the brisk night air, the Joker materialized by her side, impatiently grabbing her arm and jerking her towards the warehouse. With a stumble, she yielded to the clown's yanks, following him into the building on the heels of the henchmen. Inside, lighting was provided only by two huge, fluorescent bulbs hung from the ceiling. They illuminated, chiefly, a chipped card table which had been placed in the center of the warehouse. An array of objects were scattered across the table's surface, from guns to papers to grenades. The sheer unprofessionalism of the whole setup stunned Anne; after nearly five years of working for mobsters she had forgotten what most criminal organizations looked like. Of course, the Joker was undoubtedly smarter and, in general, more capable than any mob boss Anne had ever worked for, but the mob _itself_ was a massive, international crime syndicate and nothing like the Joker's brand of local terrorism.

Anne was so consumed in her shock that she barely noticed a man striding towards her and pulling his gun until he was less than a foot away. When the realization of her assailant's proximity hit her, she dove to the floor, rolling to the side and springing back to her feet as quickly as she could, Glock in hand. A sudden nausea overtook her, however, as she grasped her gun tightly before her, and Anne cursed her immobilizing concussion yet again.

Desperately holding in her vomit, she refocused on the henchman who had charged her and was now standing a few feet away, facing her with his own pistol drawn. "What the _fuck_?" She snarled, looking between the man and Mr. J for direction. The Joker, however, made no move to intervene, and instead viewed the scene unfolding before him with palpable interest. _Fuck you, J._

"Boss, let me kill this fucking cunt," the man finally spoke up, his accent clearly Russian. "I've wanted to put a fucking bullet in her head for over a year."

At his words, Anne narrowed her gaze, not recognizing him as one of the henchmen who had been in the back of the van; he must've ridden in the front. This meant she hadn't gotten a good look at his face until now, but as she took in his features, it all came flooding back to her. _Fucking hell, what are the odds?_

In 2008, Anne had been paid by Mikhas to go to Chechnya and whack the wife and daughter of a man from a rival Chechen syndicate. The hit had been straightforward. The wife always picked the daughter up from a school located in Grozny at 2 pm, which meant all Anne had to do was set up a rifle on the building opposite the school and watch the clock. When the time came, she hit the kid first, so that when the mom knelt down to check on her daughter, Anne could shoot her too. In the ensuing chaos their murderers had prompted, she had managed to slip away into the crowds unnoticed when police arrived. The man, whose name she didn't even remember, had fled to America after that, and, clearly, had ended up here. He wouldn't have even known it was Anne who had slaughtered his family, however, if Russian media outlets hadn't picked up whispers that the infamous Roulette was responsible for the hits and publicized it, ever intent on sensationalizing her work.

With that memory in mind, Anne eyed the man for a moment before speaking up. "Hiya honey," she taunted, "how's the family?"

It was truly a mark of how complete the man's fear of the Joker was that he didn't shoot her right then. "I take it you two… _know_ each other?" J's distinctive voice broke the tension as he stalked towards them, a knife appearing magically in his hand.

"I was contracted to kill this fucker's wife and daughter," she elaborated. "Guess ya didn't get my apology card." She added, grinning at the man and watching delightedly as the veins in his forehead bulged with anger.

She swore she heard the Joker laugh at that, but she couldn't be sure. "Leave it," he snapped after a brief moment of consideration, brushing past Anne and completely ignoring the henchman altogether. "We have, uh, _work_ to do."

Showing a level of intelligence Anne didn't expect from him, the henchman grudgingly lowered his gun. The contract killer followed suit, storing her Glock away but allowing her gaze to linger on the man, watching for any signs that he would attack her the minute she turned her back. She saw none and, satisfied, returned her focus to the Joker, who had made his way over to the card table.

"Men here, and here," J was saying, pointing to various spots on a building map he had before him. "And then _you…_ " He pointed a finger at Anne, who cocked a brow in response. "Here." He jabbed the same finger towards the middle of the map.

"What'll I be doing there, boss?" Anne asked, forcing the henchmen to make room for her as she pushed her way to the table, leaning languidly against it.

"You're the bait, dollface." The Joker shot her one of his winning smiles from across the table.

"The bait?" She looked around at the henchmen assembled, hand suddenly itching for her Glock. "For who?" She hadn't the faintest idea what this plan was even for.

"Your ex-handler." It was the man whose family she had killed that responded, standing, arms-crossed, at the opposite end of the table. Anne met his gaze, watching the intense loathing she found there with malevolent joy.

"Yeah?" Allowing her eyes to linger on the man for a moment too long, she finally redirected her attention to J, looking for a confirmation.

"Uh, _yeah_ ," the Joker echoed, sounding impatient, "he's gonna think you've been kidnapped by me."

"Oh, as opposed to being knocked out and taken to an abandoned office complex without my consent?" She shot back, grinning cheekily as J cast a glance at her. She saw amusement, dark and secretive, glinting in his eyes, but apparently he didn't deem the question worth responding to, because his next words were about something else entirely.

"Give kitty a call," he instructed, tossing Anne a dented phone from across the table. "Ask her if Batman… if he's been poking his _nose_ where it doesn't _belong_." She caught the phone and nodded, taking that to mean she should ask Kat if Batman had showed up at her apartment in search of Anne yet.

She turned away from the planning, instead walking over to the edge of the warehouse where she could make the call in privacy. She didn't want any of the Joker's henchmen to hear her speaking with Kat. _The less they know about me, the better._

Anne knew Kat's number by heart, so it didn't take long to dial, she just hoped Kat would actually pick up. After the contract killer's sudden disappearance, the girl must've been on edge, especially with Rob now brought into the fold, and Anne couldn't be sure that Kat would even _want_ to speak with her, or would feel safe doing so. Luckily, her fears were allayed a moment later when someone picked up.

"Hello?" Anne lowered her voice. "Kat?"

"Oh my fucking god!" _Yeah, that's definitely Kat._ "Anne? You're alive? I thought for sure the Joker had taken and killed you."

"Well, taken, but not killed," she elaborated. "Listen, honey, has Batman shown up at the apartment yet?"

"No, why?" Kat's tone became cautious. "And why should I tell _you_?" The girl added venomously after a moment of thought. "You're such a fucking bitch, I don't know why I-"

"Oh my _god_ , Kat, shut the fuck up!" Anne practically begged, kicking the warehouse wall in annoyance. "I'm sorry I fucking hit ya, but don't pretend you haven't pulled the exact same shit before."

"It's not _just_ the slap," she began hotly, "it's everything you do, for christ's sake. I mean you..." Kat's voice faded into the background as Anne took the phone away from her ear, deciding she would let the girl run her course, but she _certainly_ wouldn't listen while it happened.

As Anne leaned against the warehouse wall and waited for Kat's rant to end, she felt a presence creep up behind her. Remembering the henchman who wanted her dead, she whipped around, expecting a threat but instead coming face-to-face with the Joker. _He's still a threat,_ she reminded herself. But, somehow, he no longer felt like one; in the same way her cigarettes no longer felt like one. _They're both gonna kill me, but I stopped giving a fuck a long time ago._

"Trouble in paradise?" He asked, far too innocently. Anne stared at him before responding, taking in his expression of exaggerated curiosity and fighting hard to keep her smile at bay.

"Did anyone ever tell ya you're funny?" She retorted, bringing the phone back up to her ear while the Joker mouthed, ' _me?_ ' in sardonic surprise, placing a hand against his chest humbly.

"Who was that?" Kat's question redirected Anne's attention to her, and she furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Huh?" The contract killer asked, realizing her friend must've heard the Joker speak.

"Who were you just talking to?" Kat pressed, suspicion edging her tone. "Oh god, tell me it wasn't the Joker."

"It wasn't the Joker," Anne echoed back dutifully, looking at J out of the corner of her eye and grinning. He too appeared to be amused, running his tongue along the inside of his scars and watching Anne with his unyielding black gaze.

"Sure." Kat sounded equal parts exhausted and exasperated. "Now tell me the truth."

"Okay," Anne crossed an arm over her chest, "it _was_ the Joker."

Her friend inhaled sharply at that, "Yeah, that's what I _thought_. Great, love, just great. Now you're _fucking_ the clown. This shouldn't end badly at all."

"We're not fu-!" But Anne cut herself off, sending a terrified glance towards J before amending her words. "We're not doing that," she finally growled, her tone deliberate. She shot the Joker another look before adding, "Look, darling, I gotta go. Don't tell the Batman shit about me when he shows up."

As she spoke, the Joker came to stand in front of Anne, leaning a hand against the warehouse wall, directly beside her head. With a pointed smirk he held up his other gloved hand, indicating she should give him back the phone. "Bye," she told her friend softly, hanging up as Kat began to protest. Then, relinquishing the phone, Anne murmured, "Batman hasn't visited her yet."

" _Good_." The Joker spoke, punctuating his words with the customary emphasis. "Go back to the apartment," he told her, pulling an envelope out of his pocket, "and leave this where your… _girlfriend_ won't find it."

"She's not my girlfriend," Anne corrected, taking the envelope and inspecting it. Across the front of the crumpled, stained paper the word 'Batman' was written in a scrawling, red hand. Anne assumed the Joker had handwritten this letter himself. Much like the one he had left for her with the roses. "Should I even ask what this says?" She met the Joker's gaze as she asked, startled to find how close he truly was.

His tongue shot out, licking erratically at his scarred mouth, before disappearing once more. He pretended to think for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "...no." He finally decided upon, although Anne knew the pondering display had been for her benefit entirely. "Just, ah, come back here when you're done. _Hmm_?" J patted her cheek with his hand, the action too forceful to be considered affectionate, but too light to be considered a true slap.

"Whatever ya say, honey." She smiled, basking in the Joker's closeness. "You're the boss."

At her words, J made a noise in the back of his throat, twisting his mouth and gazing at her with an appraising look. _What is he thinking?_ Anne waited, lips parted, for him to make a move, watching avidly as he appeared to debate something in his head. _Come on, Mr. J._ However, after what felt like an eternity, he merely pulled back, his painted face returning to its normal slackness.

Disappointed, Anne stepped forward cautiously, wondering if that had been the Joker's way of dismissing her. Apparently she had misread something, because the next second he was grabbing her ragged ponytail, pulling so tightly she saw stars. "Ya better be quick about it, doll," he snarled in her ear, and Anne felt his other hand come up to seize her neck, thumb brushing the bump where her tracker lay. "I'll know if you, uh, take a little _detour_."

She gave a strangled laugh, eyeing the Joker. "Understood," she whispered, finding she didn't mind the pain as long as it was J inflicting it. _And just when I thought I was done finding new addictions._

Smirking at her submission, the Joker let her go before turning and disappearing into another corner of the warehouse. Anne realized that was her official dismissal and wasted no time in making her way out front, slipping the envelope into her cargo pants and pulling her Glock out instead. She would need to catch a ride to Kat's apartment, and she assumed that meant someone would have to die, or at the very least get knocked out.

Anne found a likely victim in the form of a man parking his motorcycle on the street curb, right outside the warehouse. "Hey, dude!" She called, catching his attention. "Do ya work for the Joker?"

The man turned around with a suspicious glare. "What the fuck? No…" He responded, clearly hesitant but not immediately worried because of Anne's gender. Apparently he hadn't seen the gun by her side yet.

"Perfect," she walked over, staying just out of the man's reach in case he caught wind of her motives early. "How much gas is left in the engine?" Anne indicated the motorcycle.

Beginning to get defensive, the man growled, "Listen, bitch, I don't know what kinda shit you're tryna pull, but you better getcha ass out of here before I stop being so nice."

Snorting, Anne decided she would just have to take her chances with the gas tank and hope it had enough in it to get to Kat's apartment and back. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll get my ass outta here." Without further ado, she raised her Glock and shot the man between the eyes, the noise deafening. Then, she searched the corpse until she found the motorcycle's keys. She didn't have much practice riding a motorcycle, but it was better than nothing and Anne figured it couldn't be too hard.

Before she left, she stole the man's sweatshirt as well, throwing it on and pulling up the hood to conceal both her holster and her face. Then, she set off in the direction of Kat's apartment, enjoying the feeling of the wind against her face as she rode.

By the time she had reached the apartment complex, however, her concussion had taken center stage and she realized, too late, that the ride had turned her insides into a mass of wriggling snakes. Parking the motorcycle in a nearby alleyway, she promptly leaned against a wall and hurled. _Goddamn, J, did you really need to fuck me up this bad?_ There hadn't been much food in her stomach, so the vomit was mostly stomach acid, leaving a repugnant taste in her mouth. She lit another cigarette to cleanse her mouth and then made her way over to the fire escape.

Climbing it was much harder with her concussion than she had anticipated, but eventually she managed to haul herself up to Kat's window and slip into the living room. Treading as quietly as she could so as not to alert her friend, Anne made her way to the room she had once called her own. Someone had removed the smiley face from the door, but she had no idea if the Joker or Kat was responsible for that. Cocking an eyebrow at the plain, white paint, she pushed into the room. The second she entered, Anne inspected the room, checking to make sure J really had cleared out all her belongings. A ten minute sweep confirmed that he had.

Feeling strange in the midst of the nearly empty room, Anne set the Joker's letter to Batman on the vacant bed, exactly where J had left the phone and number for her the night of Kat's kidnapping. Then, taking one last look around, Anne said her goodbyes inwardly and exited. She stopped briefly in the hallway, gazing at Kat's closed bedroom door and debating whether to knock. _No, she's become a danger to me. Kitty Kat's outta the picture for now._

With that thought in mind, Anne left the apartment as quickly as she had entered, scaling down the fire escape and making her way over to where she had parked the stolen motorcycle. As she was getting ready to tear away, another motorcycle pulled into the complex's parking lot. It was huge, clunky, and black, much like it's rider. _Oh, you've gotta be fucking with me… This is too good._ It was the Batman.

Immediately grabbing her Glock, Anne started her motorcycle's engine and drove out of the alleyway, shooting Batman's tires out as she went. Then, confident he wouldn't be able to follow her, she stored her gun away and stopped. The Batman, who had ducked down the second he heard gunshots, raised himself back up, looking shocked to see Anne sitting there, less than a yard away.

"Long time, no see, honey," she beamed. "How ya been?" She didn't even dare try to shoot him, she knew the Joker would likely skin her alive if she were to kill Batman, whether on purpose or accident. She couldn't risk putting a bullet in him anymore, even if she was just aiming to injure.

" _You_ ," Batman snarled, taking a step forward then hesitating. It was clear he was debating whether he should charge at her immediately or attempt to get information from her first. "Who are you? What are you doing in Gotham?" Apparently he decided upon the latter.

"C'mon, big guy, do better. Ya know I'm not gonna answer shit like that." She shook her head, leaning against the motorcycle's handles and grinning at Batman.

"Are you working with the Joker?" He amended, and Anne graciously pretended that she didn't see his fists clenching. She had no doubt it was taking all of Batman's willpower not to attack her where she sat.

"Oooh, _much_ better." Anne winked, deciding in that instant she _wanted_ Batman to know she was siding with J from here on out. "I am, actually. Don't worry, though, darling," she added, "I won't come between you two. I know you've always had a, um, special bond." She tried to channel the Joker as she spoke, wanting to be able to get under Batman's skin the same way he could.

"Why?" Batman demanded, and Anne liked to think she could hear him grinding his teeth, even being as far away as she was. "He'll kill you." He paused, cocking his head. "Or maybe you're going to kill _him_."

Anne laughed, barely able to contain her joy. "Is that whatcha think?" She giggled. "Nah, ya ever heard about the angel born in hell?"

"What are you talking about?" Batman rasped, and she heard genuine confusion in his voice.

"Look it up," Anne instructed happily. Then, deciding she had pushed her luck for far too long already, put her hand on the motocycle's ignition. "Well, I'll see ya around, honey. Better hurry up to her apartment now. Trust me." She didn't name Kat, but both of them knew exactly who Anne was referring to.

"What did you do?" Batman roared as Anne turned the motorcycle around and sped away, not bothering to conceal her wide smile. She heard him shoot something after her, but she jerked the handles at the last second, managing to miss what turned out to be a grappling hook. Feeling more excited than she had in a long time, Anne raced back towards the Narrows, leaving Batman in the dust and realizing that joining the Joker had been the best choice of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm super sorry for how late this chapter was! I had finals for like two weeks so I couldn't write any during that period, but now I'm finished with classes so hopefully I'll be able to get chapters up quicker! Also, I recently watched the movie "Girl, Interrupted" (great movie btw, 10/10 would recommend) and, while it's not a perfect match, Angelina Jolie's character of Lisa Rowe acts a lot like how I picture Anne acting. Her face even looks kinda similar to how I picture Anne. 
> 
> Up Next: It soon becomes very clear to the rest of the Joker's henchmen that Anne doesn't play nice with other kids and, worse yet, she seems to have the boss's ear.


	10. Satan's Spell

**Satan's Spell**

" _What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way..._

_What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,_

_No, I don't want to fall in love._

_No, I don't want to fall in love,_

_With you."_

**-Wicked Game** , Ursine Vulpine, Annaca

* * *

Bruce exploded through Katarina's apartment window, terrified he was about to find her dead. He had no idea what the mystery woman was capable of, however after her ominous words outside he could do nothing but expect the worst. Storming through the living room, he made his way to the hallway, throwing open every door he saw along the way and searching desperately for Nord. It didn't take long. As he threw open the last door on the left, he was greeted with the sight of a young woman lying still in the darkness. She didn't appear to be moving.

"Katarina," he growled, trying to keep the worry out of his voice as he strode forward and shook her. Miraculously, the girl's eyes shot open and a look of utmost fear flashed across her face. She had only been asleep.

"What the fuck?!" She screamed, scrambling upwards and jumping off the opposite side of the bed, putting the mattress in between them as her chest heaved in panic. A second later, Katarina seemed to realize who it was and sighed in relief. "Oh thank god, it's only you," she murmured. "But what the fuck are you doing here?" Her tone turned accusatory as she narrowed her gaze at him, backing up a step.

Bruce, whose eyes were only now beginning to adjust to the darkness, was shocked to find the girl's face splotched with bruises and cuts, almost disfiguring in their quantity. "Did she do that to you?" He asked softly, pointing to the physical carnage and ignoring her own question.

"What?" It was clear Nord's head was still fuzzy from sleep, and she rubbed her eyes delicately before adding, "Who are you talking about?"

"The woman working with the Joker!" Bruce was getting impatient, he had no idea whether Katarina's confusion was genuine or simply a misleading tactic, and the uncertainty of the entire situation was only increasing his frustration.

"She's working with the Joker?" This shock seemed much more manufactured to him, and Bruce realized, once again, that Katarina's connection to the woman was probably much deeper than he could have anticipated.

"Yes," he growled. "Is she the one who attacked you?"

"Do you mean my face?" When Bruce nodded, Katarina gave an almost disdainful snort. "No, she didn't beat my ass. That's, um… unrelated."

Not sure whether to believe her, he made a noncommittal noise before adding, "She was just here." That _did_ appear to shock Nord, who cocked her head to the side, clearly thinking something through in her head. "Did you know that?"

"As in she was just _inside_ my apartment?" He couldn't be sure, but Bruce swore he heard a note of definite panic in Katarina's tone. _Maybe she is afraid of the woman after all?_ Yet another, more cynical voice took precedent in his head. _Or maybe she's just worried about her own connection to the woman and the consequences she may have to face._

"I don't know. She was in the backlot outside, on a motorcycle." He studied Katarina carefully as he spoke, trying to gauge her exact reactions to the words. "But she mentioned you. She made it seem like there was something - or someone - waiting for me up here."

At that, Nord backed up, clearly terrified. "Oh my god." Then, without another word, the girl tore out of the room. Perplexed, Bruce raced after her, finding that she had opened the door directly across the hall. He entered after her to find a spare bedroom, entirely ordinary except for the letter Katarina was picking up from the freshly made bed.

"Shit." Bruce heard her curse under her breath before turning once more to face him. She extended the letter with a shaky hand. "It's addressed to you," Nord said, trepidation in her voice.

Furrowing his brow, Bruce took the letter and looked down, immediately noticing the scratchy, red scrawl across the front reading 'Batman.' It could only mean one thing: the Joker. Feeling his mouth tighten, he opened the envelope and pulled out a crumpled, stained piece of paper with more nearly-illegible writing. Sending Katarina one more, fleeting glance before returning his gaze to the note, he began to read.

' _Dear Batman,_ ' it began, ' _I would love to catch up, but you see I'm very busy at the moment. Lots of new developments. Don't worry, I'll find time for you sooner or later. But for right now? Keep your distance. Tell your little pet Gordon to do the same. I'm sure his poor wife is just_ _dying_ _for him to take some time off. Yours truly, the Joker.'_

"What does it say?" Katarina demanded once Bruce looked back up, clearly done reading.

"It's a threat," he told her, "from the Joker." Flipping the letter over, Bruce noticed there was a P.S. included on the back. ' _P.S._ ,' it read, ' _turns out looks can kill in more ways than one._ '

"A threat?" Nord snatched the letter and envelope from him, reading it for herself. Her eyes widened. "He's gonna kill Gordon's wife?"

"If I don't back off, yes. That seems to be what he's implying." Batman took the letter back, placing it in one of his many batsuit pockets. "I think the P.S. is in reference to the woman you _claim_ not to know, despite rushing into this room the second I told you she had possibly been to your apartment."

His words made Katarina deeply uncomfortable, that much was evident. She had shown her hand in a moment of weakness and now she couldn't take it back. _Just how much does she know about the woman? How are they connected?_ "It's just this… this is the spare room, so I thought- um, I thought that…" But Nord merely allowed her sentence to drift off, clearly aware that she was only digging herself in deeper. She shot Bruce a terrified glance. Then, after a brief pause, added, "I've never killed anyone, I swear on my-" She broke off, biting her lip and hesitating. "On my baby's life."

Bruce was thankful for Batman's mask in that moment, as he was sure he wouldn't be able to keep the surprise and fear off of his face otherwise. "You're pregnant?" He asked, but the question was rhetorical. The hand Nord placed on her stomach was evidence enough of the truth.

"Um… yeah," She admitted. "I just found out the other day. No one knows." He could tell from her relieved sigh that she was telling the truth. "Except you, I guess." She gave him a half-smile. "I, uh, I don't really know why I'm telling you. It's, um, it's," the girl stuttered, looking around the room as if coming back to her senses, "weird as fuck." She finished with another apologetic grin.

"It's not weird," Bruce promised, suddenly feeling much more sympathy for the young girl. "You just want to distance yourself from that woman and you don't know how to make me believe you're not like her. So you humanized yourself." He took a step nearer, his voice becoming more serious. "Katarina, I _know_ you know her. Don't deny it." He added, when he saw Nord open her mouth to retaliate. "But I have no concrete evidence to link you two, so there's nothing to fear from me. The only people you have to fear are her and the Joker. They're not done with you, I promise that. Do you really want your child living in a world where those two are on the loose?" She swallowed, and Bruce saw an apprehension appear in her eyes, clear as day. "Help me, Katarina, I can't catch her without you. At least not yet."

"You don't understand, Batman." There were tears streaming down her face as she met his gaze. "I know she's awful. I do, I know that." Katarina hesitated, blinking against her sorrow. "But I can't help you, and I can't explain why. For… for so many reasons." There was genuine regret in her tone, but it did little to stop the crushing disappointment Bruce felt at her words. Mostly in himself, for failing to see the connection between Nord and the mystery woman, but also slightly with Katarina, for allowing herself to be blind-sided by one so clearly evil.

"Fine," he growled between gritted teeth. He was angry, there was no denying it, but some part of him couldn't push the girl too hard, not in light of her pregnancy. "Then help me with this at least." If she wouldn't tell him details about the woman, Nord could at least assist him in decoding her riddles. "Outside, when I asked the woman why she was working with the Joker, she told me to look up some story. About an angel born in hell." He narrowed his eyes. "Do you have any idea what she was talking about?"

Nord actually gave a watery laugh at that, the noise short and abrupt, as though she wasn't even surprised. "It's not a story, it's a song." She explained, still half-grinning. "Well, they're lyrics from a song. God, she's such a fucking-" But Katarina broke off, casting Bruce a worried glance. He clenched his jaw yet said nothing. "They're lyrics," she reaffirmed. "It goes: ' _No angel born in hell could break that Satan's spell.'_ They're from _American Pie_. You know, that old song from like the fifties or something?"

Bruce, more confused than ever, merely nodded. "I know the song," he said. "But why would she mention it?"

Nord snorted. "She's the angel born in hell. The Joker must be Satan." Something resembling sorrow crossed the girl's face. "She can't break his spell."

Bruce was far less moved by the admission than Katarina was. "What spell?" He demanded. "Is he blackmailing her? Is that why she's working for him now?"

The girl gave a wry laugh. "If only," she muttered. Then, "I have no idea what spell she's referring to." Something changed within Katarina, she placed a hand across her stomach once more and shot Bruce a distrustful look. "You should probably go. Uh, please." Guilt crossed her face. "Sorry, it's just I'm really fucking tired. You know, the baby."

Bruce realized she was using the pregnancy to try and manipulate him into leaving her alone, but he decided not to press any further for the time being. She had given him enough to start with, probably more than she even knew. "Yeah." His tone indicated his irritation, but he turned and strode from the room anyway, making his way back over to the window through which he had entered.

"Batman!" Katarina called after him. He stopped just as he was about to jump onto the fire escape, looking over his shoulder at her. "If they're actually working together," she began, standing awkwardly in the living room, "be careful. She's dangerous." Nord paused. "Like, really dangerous. And now that she's with the Joker…" The girl trailed off, shaking her head and looking almost lost. "You have no idea what they'll be capable of."

Bruce took in her words for a moment, casting a glance at the ground, before grunting and hopping onto the fire escape, leaving Katarina without another word.

* * *

Anne hated the henchmen. The henchmen hated Anne. It was the most animosity the contract killer had ever felt from colleagues, and she had little doubt as to why it was there. The Joker was unique from all her other bosses in the sense that people didn't work for him solely because of money, rather they were inexplicably drawn to him in an almost religious way, and therefore wanted nothing more than his attention and approval. Sure, the financial benefits sweetened the deal, but it wasn't anything like the mob, which had effectively been little more than a lucrative, illegal business operation. The Joker definitely didn't run a business, that much was made clear to Anne from the moment she began working for him. And she liked it that way. However, it meant that J's favoritism of her left the other henchmen reeling with anger and jealousy. They _detested_ the fact that Anne had become the Joker's preferred plaything - doubly so because she was a woman - and soothed their wounded pride by assuming the contract killer was fucking him and not-so-quietly calling her a whore, amongst other, nastier names.

Anne was not, in fact, sleeping with J, which was as disappointing for her as it was chagrining for the henchmen. She had long since given up hiding her clear attraction to the man, but she refused to make the first move, determined that it should be the Joker who decided where and when he wanted her. It gave him the power, and both of them preferred it that way. But his reluctance towards the matter had become annoyingly obvious as the days dragged on, and Anne had an inkling she knew where this uncharacteristic hesitance came from. If the Joker did give into his lust and take what he so clearly wanted, he would be giving _Anne_ the tiniest bit of power as well. And that was something he apparently refused to do, at least for the time being. Like this, with J simply allowing Anne's infatuation to increasingly frustrate her, he held all the cards. She _certainly_ wasn't going to leave or stop obeying him; she was his, in almost every sense of the word. So why should he spoil the current power dynamic by fucking Anne, thereby showing his hand? It didn't make any sense. At least, that's why she assumed he held off. However, trying to understand the Joker's motivations and thoughts was a slippery, treacherous, and unreliable slope. One could never really be certain why he did anything at all, but that didn't stop Anne from speculating. It was entertaining, in an indulgent sort of way.

By now, Anne's concussion had mostly worn off and she was beginning to feel like her normal self again. Even better than usual, perhaps, for she had found that in the midst of all the excitement surrounding the Joker, her craving for coke and liquor had somewhat dissipated. It was still there, beneath the surface, but it no longer took center stage in her mind. Anne saw it as another sign that J was the one good thing to have ever happened in her life, the one choice she had truly made for herself. _And it's the one choice my father would've been too much of a pussy to make._

Including this, in the three days since Anne had dropped the letter for Batman off at Kat's apartment, she had used one of her fake identities to purchase a small house in Gotham's suburbs, so that the Joker and his crew could set up a stable base of operations to plan from. J kept most of his ideas to himself, however he _had_ made everyone aware of the fact that they would soon be luring a Russian mobster (Alexei) to his death, as part of a pointed message to the Bratva. Their precious Roulette would be an active participant in the murder of her ex-handler; Mr. J had taken the weapon sent to kill him and simply turned it on those who wanted him dead. Everyone was powerless against the Joker, and he wanted the Bratva to know it.

Within the house, Anne had holed herself up in a small office space, claiming a room by right of ownership. Of course, the Joker had made sure to commandeer the main suite for himself, because even if it was technically her house, it was still J's operation. He was the boss and therefore got the best room. That left the rest of the henchmen to find their own corners to sleep in, the ones who ended up staying overnight, that is. Anne could never really get an estimate on how many men the Joker had on his payroll, because they were constantly flitting in and out of the house, doing J's bidding or else merely checking in with the boss. It was clear they had never had a permanent 'headquarters' (so to speak) before, and had no idea how to use one. The whole situation was another culture shock for Anne, who was used to the normalcy of the mob, and not a bunch of assholes from the streets of Gotham living with her.

She mulled the entirety of the situation over as she sat on the air mattress currently functioning as her bed, smoking and painting her fingernails. Outside, the spring day was rainy, with storm clouds obscuring the sun and allowing a seemingly perpetual gloom to descend over the city. Anne didn't mind it, thunderstorms tended to soothe her and she assumed there was nothing pressing to be done that day, given the Joker's silence. _I doubt he's even in the house right now._

Almost as if he had heard her very thoughts, something heavy banged against her closed door, startling Anne and making her hand slip, smearing nail polish across her finger. _God fucking dammit._ Shooting the closed door a venomous glare, she got up to open it when the Joker's voice sounded from the hallway.

"We need to _talk_ , doll," he drawled, slightly muffled. Wondering whether or not she should be concerned, Anne waited a moment, lingering in the middle of her makeshift room while her cigarette dangled from her lips. After a second, she heard the Joker's footsteps retreat further down the hallway, presumably heading for the main suite. _He wants me in_ his _room?_

Perplexed, Anne wiped the smeared nail polish off with a finger before unlocking her door and peering into the hallway. It was vacant, but she could hear voices issuing from the living room and kitchen, where she assumed a couple henchmen were congregated. More curiously, at the opposite end of the hall, the Joker's door had been left cracked open and a thin stream of light was emitting from within. Taking this as an invitation, Anne crept out into the open, firmly closing her own door and making her way towards J's room. The very action felt wrong in her mind; she couldn't imagine intruding on the Joker's private space. Years of being surrounded by men like her father, Falcone, and Mikhas had taught Anne to learn her place and learn it well. Stepping out of line usually meant she got her ass beat, and entering J's room certainly _felt_ like stepping out of line. However, Anne's acute sense of curiosity got the better of her and she quietly came to stand at the Joker's threshold, nudging open the door ever-so-slightly.

Despite her absolute silence, J's head turned to face her immediately, bearing testament to his almost inhuman senses. He was sitting at a desk, laptop opened in front of him, and decked out in full paint and suit, minus the jacket. He seemed to have something of an affection for his purple three-piece, and Anne was left wondering if he ever changed out of it, even to sleep. _I doubt it._ As she took in his appearance, still infatuating despite the peculiar normalcy she felt towards it, a malicious smile crept over the Joker's face.

"Ya know, _you_ remind me of a dog." His eyes narrowed appraisingly at her, scanning the contract killer's unsure figure. "One who's been _kicked_ too many times and, uh, now… doesn't know where it's welcome." Anne knew he was making fun of her, but found she didn't particularly care. Instead, she gave him a half-grin, enjoying the way his gaze flicked across her with it's customary precision.

"Yeah, well," she stepped into the room, using her butt to close the door behind her, "I guess I am a bitch."

The Joker gave an erratic, high-pitched chuckle at her admission. "That _is_ the general consensus." He agreed, motioning her over to the desk as he did so. Still apprehensive as to the nature of this talk, Anne cautiously obeyed the summons, blowing on her nailpolish as she went.

When she reached him, coming to stand beside his seated figure, he pushed a couple of large, grainy photographs her way. "Your handler is still in town, doll," J informed her, his tone giving no clues as to how he felt about that particular piece of information. "As you can, uh, _see_ , he's not dead or in jail." At this, the Joker stood up from his chair, looming over Anne as she pulled the photos closer. There was no denying they were of Alexei, looking miraculously alive and well. _How the fuck did he escape the GCPD?_ "He's been looking for you." The Joker added, beginning to circle around the contract killer as he spoke, clearly enjoying the way she tensed every time he got too close, whether it be his arm accidentally brushing her back or his breath stirring her hair. Anne was distinctly uncomfortable being put in a position of such vulnerability, and he knew it. Like this, with the contract killer practically pinned against the desk, her fighting skills would be of little use should the Joker decide to harm her.

This anxiety was only exacerbated when she heard J laugh, the noise coming from deep within his chest and more ominous sounding than usual. Swallowing, Anne finally murmured a response. "Even if he is looking for me, that doesn't mean he'll come running if ya tell him I've been kidnapped." As she spoke, she became acutely aware of J leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder. Anne had a feeling the action was less affectionate and more taunting in nature. Doing her best to ignore it, the contract killer took a drag on her cigarette and continued, "He could just be looking to kill me himself, since I cut and run when the police stormed the docks." At this, Anne turned her head to the side, gazing at the Joker's startlingly close face out of the corner of her eye. "He'll probably think it's good fucking riddance that you're saving him the hassel of having to put a bullet in my head himself."

"Don't be so sure," J growled in her ear. He reached down to pick up one of the photos, the movement forcing Anne to hunch over, away from his overbearing presence. The Joker brought the picture up to her face with one hand while the other came to form a loose fist around her neck, his fingers pressing into the faintest remnants of bruises which her handler had left on her from their last drunk encounter. "He doesn't seem the _type-uh_ to throw away such a pret _ty_ , little plaything that easily. _Hmm_?"

Anne, trying to ignore the Joker's alarming proximity and the fact that he had pieced together the sexual aspect of her relationship with Alexei effortlessly, turned back towards the photograph. _Is that whatcha think I am, Mr. J?_ "It doesn't matter," she responded after a moment. "Mikhas put a bounty on my head for failing to kill ya. What Alexei feels about me is inconsequential."

"About… _that_." Without warning, the Joker grabbed her by the waist and jerked her around to face him. Anne, who had inhaled sharply the second he touched her, had a feeling J knew _exactly_ what he was doing. "I, uh, haven't heard about any price on your head, doll." He leaned against the desk as he spoke, a hand positioned on either side of her, propping himself up.

"That… that doesn't make any sense," Anne began, furrowing her brow. "Alexei told me-"

But the Joker cut her off, cocking his head to the side as he gave her a look of insufferable all-knowing. "Which means," he continued, pretending she hadn't spoken, "that Russian boss of yours-"

"Mikhas," she told him, interrupting. Apparently, J didn't appreciate this, because the next second he was back-handing her so ferociously that stars danced across her vision. Anne was thrown to the side, her lip splitting open and a trickle of blood beginning to drip from her nose. Thankfully, she kept her balance and did not fall to the ground, merely leaning heavily on the desk for support. For a moment, the right side of her face was numb from the blow, and only after Anne hesitantly dabbed at her nose, checking for breakage, did the pain blossom full-force. _God fucking dammit. If this brings back my concussion, I'll fucking kill him._ But even as she thought this, she knew, deep down, that she would not be retorting physically in any way.

"Ah… don't inter _rupt_ ," the Joker reprimanded in a tone so innocuous one would think he was simply instructing a child not to put their hand in fire. "Got it?" When Anne didn't respond, still reeling from the blow, J grabbed her chin firmly and directed her gaze to him. " _Hey_! Look at me." His blackened gaze widened as he gave her a mocking nod. " _Got it_?" He repeated, this time with emphasis.

Clenching her jaw, Anne stared at J blankly for a moment before responding. "Yeah, I got it," she muttered.

"I got it, _Mr. J_ ," the Joker instantly corrected her, barely bothering to conceal his fiendish enjoyment of her humiliation.

"I got it, Mr. J," Anne dutifully repeated back. Only then did he release her chin, giving her a half-way affectionate tap on the cheek as he withdrew his hand.

" _Now_ , as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," he continued, acting as if he hadn't just badly bruised an entire side of Anne's face, "the fact that I, uh, haven't heard about any price on your head means your _old_ boss…" The Joker trailed off at that, staring at Anne and silently daring her to interject again. She didn't. "Your old boss," he picked up again after a period of glaring, "only told, ah, _Alex_ to kill you because he knew the _poor…_ lovestruck man wouldn't put a scratch on ya." J sent her a sardonic grin, tugging a strand of her hair. "It was just a scare tactic. A warning."

Knowing in her heart of hearts that the Joker had purposely called Alexei 'Alex' to show how little he cared, Anne waited a moment to make sure he was truly done before piping back up, wary of getting another slap. "Why would Mikhas do that?" She finally asked after J gave a slight nod, indicating she could talk now. "It doesn't make any sense." As Anne spoke, her gaze searched the Joker's face, conscious of how close he was. Less than a foot of space separated the two. Like this, she could see the flesh colored lines criss-crossing his painted clown mask where the makeup had worn away, the individual eyebrow hairs covered with black, and the smears of white blending into his dingy green hair, the lurid colors intertwining to make the signature look of the most feared man in Gotham. Perhaps the most feared man in America. _And he's right in front of me._

"Well," J began, wetting his lips and leaning closer as if he was about to let her in on a fantastic secret, "he might not be an idiot after all… shocking as that may seem." He grinned as Anne, sensing the sarcasm, laughed against her will. "I'd _wager_ he could tell that your hesitation about killing me? It, uh, stemmed from more than just _tech_ nical difficulties." Suddenly, the Joker was grabbing her face again, this time with such force she could feel bruises forming where his fingers were digging into the already damaged skin. He yanked her closer, something terrifying gleaming in his black eyes. "Isn't that right, dollface?" The question was clearly rhetorical, and he held her there in silence for what felt like an eternity, drinking in her obvious pain with a sadistic joy. Finally, when Anne had started to become convinced he was never going to let her go, the Joker loosened his grip and let her lean back against the desk, face unbearably sore. With a predatory look, he spoke up once more. "He must have had uhh… _suspicions_ that you would be susceptible."

Rolling her Marlboro between her thumb and forefinger, Anne frowned. "Susceptible?" She queried. "Susceptible to what?"

J gave her a wide smile at that, flashing shockingly yellow teeth. "To me." Anne immediately opened her mouth to retaliate, but the Joker held up a finger, warning her to hold her tongue. "Ah-ta-ta-ta," he admonished, "not yet." Eyes narrowing, the contract killer pressed her lips back together with resentment, deciding the insolence wasn't worth it. Satisfied, the Joker continued. "He thought he could scare ya straight. Have that Russian boyfriend of yours let slip the boss wasn't exactly _happy_ with you. Then _ta-da_!" He waved his hands through the air, the movement so sudden and erratic Anne flinched. "All of a sudden, you'd magically remember who you belong to." J's tongue shot out as he gave her a mocking 'can-you-believe-it' face. "You'd kill me, run back home to Russia, beg forgiveness, and your little trans _gression_ would be allll forgotten. And Roulette?" He paused, and only then did the contract killer realize she had been holding her breath, hanging onto his every word. Apparently, J noticed this too, because he sent her an obvious smirk before finishing the thought. "Ah… she'd be returned to her place as the Bratva's favorite asset, a _product_ to be used whenever something, or someone," he indicated himself at that, "gets in the way of their precious business."

Anne's lips parted as she took in his words, realizing the truth in them. She was nothing more than a tool to the Bratva, another cog in their money-making machine. _An investment._ The word popped into her head as she remembered Alexei's drunken stammers. The more she thought about it, just how ignorant and misguided she had been, the sicker Anne began to feel. Hoping to calm her suddenly shaky self, the contract killer brought the cigarette back up to her mouth and inhaled deeply, relishing the fiery sensation in her throat. It felt as though her very memories could be burned away.

"How- _ever_ ," the Joker carried on, waving a finger, "uh, Mikhas?" He scrunched his face up for a second, seeming to internally decide whether that was the correct name or not, then gave himself a perfunctory nod, apparently remembering it was. "Mikhas," he repeated, "couldn't see the _one_ … _teensy_ , little flaw in his master plan." J paused again, presumably for dramatic affect, and allowed Anne to move in closer, eyebrows raised high in anticipation. " _You_ ," he said, poking her in the chest, "had already convinced yourself that _I_ was gonna be your, uh, savior. The one to tell ya whatcha already knew deeeeeep down." He snorted derisively. "That the Bratva and the system you have your little _heart_ set on rebelling against? They're two sides of the same coin." The Joker gave her a knowing look, his tongue shooting out like a dog's. "Ya see, it wasn't my words that stopped you from pulling the trigger in Arkham, doll. It was what I _stand_ for."

"But…" A stream of smoke billowed from Anne's mouth as she shook her head, puzzled. "When I walked into your cell that night I was gonna kill you," she said, "it was only after ya told me what the Bratva truly is that I realized I couldn't fucking do it." Her gaze searched his face fervently. "I couldn't kill someone like you."

A dark gleam appeared in the Joker's eyes while he took in her words, but Anne couldn't quite decipher it. "I was only telling ya whatcha already knew," J reiterated. "You were just in denial." He cocked his head to the side. "Think about _it_ , doll. If ya truly were planning on killing me in Arkham, why'd you, uhhh, _let_ me open my mouth to begin with? How many hits had you pulled off by that point? Hmm?" J gave her a knowing look. "You know what to do, and yet you still practically _invited_ me to speak. Be _cause_ , at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what I say or, uh, _do_." His emphasis on the 'do' sent a shiver up Anne's spine, imagining just what this man was capable of. "You'll… _never_ be able to kill me, because of what I represent, in your mind." With a terrible, red grin, the Joker reached up and pulled the dying cigarette from Anne's mouth, inspecting it for a moment before tossing it to the side pointedly. " _More_." She watched, almost as if in a trance, while the Marlboro landed soundlessly on the floor, embers fluttering up half-heartedly in protest of it's discardment. Something, deep within her, shifted in that moment. "It's the reason ya joined the mob to begin with, isn't it?" The Joker's voice brought her attention back to him, and she watched the way his blackened brows raised, as if daring her to contradict his assessment. She didn't.

"Yes." Anne's voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. "I wanted the money, the power, the infamy." She swallowed past the dryness in her mouth, eyes widening in sincerity. "And I got it, all of it. I thought Roulette was what I'd been searching my whole life for; the _more_ that would finally make me feel alive. But the only 'more' she ever got me left me feeling just as fucking hollow inside as before. I wasn't a person, I was a product. I wasn't even real." The Joker's gaze narrowed minutely at her words, and Anne swore she saw satisfaction glinting within the black pupils. "Because how the fuck can ya feel real and alive in a system like this? How can ya be a person if it's all based on you behaving like a product, like an investment?" A small, genuine grin came over her face as Anne realized she had finally found her purpose. And it wasn't Roulette or anything else created by men like her father and Mikhas, it was standing right in front of her. "I didn't realize how fucking terrifed everyone was of the truth, including myself, until I read about you. The only person in the entire world who dared to show people they were living a lie, and they were all scared shitless of ya. Just because you were showing 'em what they wanted so badly to ignore." A sudden, near-desperation came over her. "Mr. J," she grasped his arms and, surprisingly, the Joker did nothing to reprimand her, "I've finally realized… there's nothing or no more more than _you_."

The Joker remained silent for a long while after Anne's speech, and she could see the gears turning wildly in his head as he inspected her with his customary impassivity. They were so close, she liked to think she could hear his heartbeat. But she knew it was just her imagination; this man didn't have a heart. In fact, Anne had a deep-seated suspicion that the Joker wasn't really a man at all, but rather a god, created as a direct response to the hypocritical patron saint of Gotham, Batman. _Maybe he really is the Devil?_ Anne had insinuated as much to the Batman, when she spoke to him outside of Kat's apartment, but she had been half-joking, playing with the vigilante's expectations of her more than anything else. Still, the idea of it was intoxicatingly intriguing. _I would sell my soul to you, J,_ she thought with amusement, _but there's nothing there to sell._

"Well, _Anne_ ," the Joker finally spoke up after what seemed to be an eternity of silence, his voice uncharacteristically even, "then I guess I'm not the only one who knows the truth." At his words, the contract killer's face split into a wide smile, beyond happy at his acceptance of her. It seemed, at least to Anne, that in this moment she was no longer Roulette, no longer an investment for the mob or Tom Lynn, but a real person. _I'm finally alive._ And she owed it all to the Joker.

"Ya see," J pushed away from the desk as he cleared his throat, preparing to give yet another speech, "what I find, ah, _funny_ , is the fact that people view the mob as any different from the ' _normal'_ businesses and corporations they buy from everyday." The disdain with which he spat the word 'normal' made it clear he was using air quotes in their most ironic sense. "They both do the, uh, ex _act_ same thing, only the mob? They tend to deal with drugs and gambling and prostitution. The… _forbidden fruits_ of society, as they say." The Joker shot her something resembling a grin, pacing across the room as he spoke. "But, ya know, these big corporations exploit and kill people with the same, uh, _impunity_ that the mob does. Maybe they don't go out of their _way_ to hire, uhh…" He jabbed a finger in her direction as he walked, as though trying to remember her name. " _Roulette_ ," he finally said. "Maybe they don't hire her, or someone like her, _but_ , guess what? They still _manage_ to kill more people than the mob. And yet no one bats an eye!" He paused for a second, tongue shooting out while he did so, wetting his scarred lips. "Because they've drawn this _litttttle_ line in their head between what can be considered, uh, normal and what can be considered deviant. It's this _line_ , this idea that if ya stick to, I dunno, _morality_ , or some other pointless joke, you can sleep at night… se _cure_ in the knowledge that you're not one of the, uh, 'bad' ones. One of the _freaks_." J's face scrunched up at the last word, contorting into the ugliest expression Anne had ever seen. If she had been anyone else, it would've worried her. "But the line? It's not real, it doesn't exist. It's some half-formed joke created by people to, ah, _save_ _face_. To hide the fact that these _ideas_ like justice and order and morality? They're just lies they tell themselves so that they can pretend there's any difference between them and the _freaks_ they lock up." The Joker stopped pacing and turned to look at Anne, adding, "But there's no difference. Just like there's no difference between the mob and the _civilized_ businesses. They're alllll unable to see the lie for what it… _truly_ is."

"Just like I was," Anne added, nearly breathless from excitement as she took in J's words. It all made sense: her resentment for the status quo and her reasoning behind feeling hollow even after she became Roulette. And it was the Joker who had opened her eyes. It was the Joker who had given her the _more_ she had desperately craved for so long: a purpose. Anne would adopt J's cause as her own (which she doubted would be too hard, given she had already adhered to most of it before meeting the clown), and stay in Gotham to join him in his war against Batman, which was really nothing more than a war of ideologies. It was clear the Joker had been fighting to steal Gotham's soul away from the Caped Crusader, and Anne was intent on helping him.

"Just like you were." Mr. J's voice pulled her back to the present, and Anne watched as he strode closer, a red grin adorning his face. "But not, ahhh, _anymore_."

A wide beam split across her features at the praise, and she tilted her chin upwards to keep eye contact with the Joker as he came to stand before her once more, looking at her like a teacher would look at a prized pupil. "And after we kill Alexei," Anne prompted, her voice a murmur, "are ya gonna drive the rest of the Russians outta Gotham too?" That question seemed to amuse J, who snorted derisively in response. "You destroyed all the other major mob syndicates last year, I read about it," she added. "Even the Falcone family fell apart without Maroni there to lead. If ya get rid of the Bratva men Mikhas just sent in, the whole fucking city would be yours again."

Something glittered in the Joker's eyes as Anne finished speaking, and he cast her a curiously bright look before saying coyly, "And if the, uh, the _Dent Act_ gets repealed? Then all the low level men which it locked _up_ will be out on the streets again… looking for employment."

Anne caught on immediately. "They'll come to you," she predicted. "I mean, what else can they do? You got rid of all the mob bosses. There's no one left but you." She paused for a beat, thinking back to what she had heard about Gotham during 2008, and the city D.A. at the time, Dent, who had supposedly been killed by Batman. "How are ya gonna get the Dent Act repealed, though?" She asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. "I thought he was like some kinda hero."

At her words, the Joker actually burst out into erratic giggles, apparently finding the idea of Dent as a hero hilarious. "No, no, no," he waved a gloved hand dismissively, "he wasn't any differ _ent_ than me or Batman." Anne held her tongue at this, deciding it wasn't wise to point out that there was, in fact, a _massive_ difference between the Joker and Batman, and that classifying Dent as similar to them didn't clarify the situation at all. "Dontcha worry, doll," J added with his customary confidence, "before this year is out? You'll see who, uh, _Dent_ really was. And so will everyone else." He folded his lips together as he finished speaking, sending Anne a look which she roughly translated into 'just you wait for it.' Waiting had never been the contract killer's strong suit, but her years in the Bratva had taught Anne patience, if nothing else. And it was with that thought in mind that she decided not to pry any further, assuming the Joker would turn violent again if she continued to prod.

Instead she intoned, "Whatever ya say, Mr. J." The obedience came as second nature to her by now, and Anne had an inkling the Joker realized this as well, and not-so-secretly reveled in it. The somewhat malicious smile he sent her before responding only served to strengthen her suspicions.

"And people say you aren't _smart_." The quip was derogatory, and J's gaze gleamed with cruel joy as he tried to gauge just how pissed off it made Anne.

"Oh yeah?" She snapped back in reply. "Who the fuck says that?"

"Uh, _me_." J said, giving a malevolent chuckle as Anne's indignant fury blazed across her features. She felt her jaw tighten and she raised her hand to slap the clown, forgetting in her anger that it would be suicide to strike him at the moment. Luckily, or perhaps not, the Joker caught her wrist in his hand before she could hit him, his grip so forceful Anne was sure she could feel her bones grating against one another. For good measure he grabbed her other wrist too, holding them together in one hand while his other came up to ensnare a fistful of the contract killer's hair, a favorite move of his.

" _Now_ , that wasn't very _nice_ , was it?" The Joker asked with intense condescension, his voice frustratingly calm as Anne struggled in vain against his grip and weight, which he was using to pin her against the desk.

"Fuck you," she snarled, but she only half-meant it. If Anne had truly wanted to escape, she could headbutt the Joker and use his subsequent disorientation to her advantage, however, in restraining her, J had become incredibly close, his face mere inches from hers, and the intoxicating effects of his nearness had taken over Anne. Even her rage, usually satiable only with violence, had mostly dissipated in the face of his proximity.

The Joker, who had originally cackled at her futile attempts to get free, changed in demeanor at her words, appearing to realize just how close they were as well. His features became slack and a terrifying gleam appeared in his lifeless, black pupils. Anne watched him intensely, swallowing as she tried to decide whether the look meant he wanted to kill her or fuck her. Perhaps it meant both. After a second, however, it passed, and the normal apathy returned. Then, with a grunt, J threw her to the ground, pointedly in the direction of the door. The violent fall caused Anne's head to throb in protest, and she could feel the rest of her body bruising on impact with the hardwood flooring. Even her gunshot wound, which was by this point weeks old, decided to sting again, as if out of spite. _Just my fucking luck._

"Out ya go," J practically sang, something akin to amusement resonating through his tone. "We've got a, uh, big day ahead tomorrow." Gritting her teeth, Anne hauled herself up, regaining her feet and sending the Joker a cautiously hopeful glance.

"Ya don't mean…" She trailed off, narrowing her gaze. "We're finally gonna kill Alexei?"

The Joker chuckled at her evident eagerness, blackened eyes crinkling with glee. "You got it, babydoll." He strolled towards her while he spoke, grabbing her by the upper arm and steering her forcefully to the doorway. Apparently, he had decided that Anne wasn't going to leave without help. "I'll come getcha tomorrow when it's time. But for _right_ _now_?" J opened the door and shoved Anne out into the hallway. " _Shoo_." Then, without further ado, he slammed the door in her face, leaving the contract killer standing in the empty gloom of the hall. _Shit, thanks, Mr. J._ Slightly vexed, Anne started towards her own room, before stopping, almost against her will, and looking over her shoulder towards the Joker's door, where she knew he was standing just on the other side. A palpable excitement took hold of Anne. _Tomorrow_. In the darkness, she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I have nothing to say for myself except that I am, in fact, the Worst™ and also the slowest writer on the planet. I have no idea why, but this chapter took me forever to write. I'll blame it on writer's block but it was definitely also based on the fact that writing long scenes with the Joker in them stresses me out cause I never feel like I'm writing him correctly or accurately portraying him like the Nolanverse version. But oh well, hopefully the scene is alright. I'm super sorry for how long it took me to upload this chapter and I hope the next one will be up quicker! Oh and btw, the song I quote in the beginning of the chapter wasn't originally sung by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca, it was originally by Chris Issak, however I like their version of it better for this story's vibe. Anyways, I would love to hear what you guys think of the chapter! Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic, it really means so much to me and I hope the next chapter will be up soon!
> 
> Up Next: With the trap laid for Roulette's ex-handler, it's only a matter of whether or not he will take the bait.


	11. Point of No Return

**Point of No Return**

" _This will never end 'cause I want more,_

_More, give me more, give me more._

_If I had a heart I could love you."_

- **If I Had a Heart** , Fever Ray

* * *

Rain was coming, Anne could smell it in the air. It mingled with the scent of the decaying leaves - strewn across the cracked sidewalks and crumbling, asphalt roads - to make a potent, earthy concoction that wafted through the streets of Gotham's suburbs. The atmosphere, which was altogether calmer and quieter than the heart of the city, irritated Anne to no end. She had lived in the suburbs as a kid, and had hated it just as much then as she did now. The subdued climate, with its lack of flashing lights and garish skyscrapers, gave her a nervous energy. It was _too_ silent, too sedated. Time felt stagnant away from the constant buzz of Gotham's streets. Sure, Anne hated the city too, but at least it was stimulating, with an endless barrage of sights and sounds to occupy the senses. The suburbs, in comparison, seemed to stand as the epitome of everything Anne had joined the Joker to fight against.

Lighting a cigarette, she leaned back against the house and watched the empty street carefully, waiting for the car she knew was about to arrive. Mr. J had told her she would be picked up outside at around 9 pm and then taken to a location in the Narrows, where Alexei had apparently been informed Roulette was being held hostage. _He'll never fucking show, he might not be the brightest bulb, but he's not a fucking idiot. He'll sense this is a trap._ The Joker clearly thought otherwise, assuming that Alexei had fallen in love with Anne, or something close to love. She had no such delusions. Her ex-handler might have liked fucking her, perhaps more than he liked fucking other girls, but lust was not love. Alexei would never, in a million years, put himself at risk to save Anne's skin. Maybe he was too much of a pussy to kill her outright, but she doubted he would so much as blink if he heard the Joker was in a position to kill the contract killer and save Alexei the trouble.

Smoke unfurled from her red, parted lips as Anne waited, crossing an arm across her chest and feeling her trusty Glock press into her side. She had dressed in the tattered, frayed remains of her usual Roulette outfit, which had become rank and generally disgusting from her nearly week-long, continual wearing of it, starting with the day she had purchased the key of cocaine (and taken a swim in Gotham's harbour) and ending with her eventual buying of the house she was leaning against. Anne had figured their putridity would lend an authenticity to the kidnapping story. Furthermore, the Joker had seen to it yesterday that her face sported fresh bruises, adding more legitimacy to the lie.

Rain had just started to pour from the sky when headlights tore across the darkened road Anne had been staring at so intently. She straightened up and threw her Marlboro aside, narrowing her eyes at the oncoming vehicles. _What the fuck? Why are there two?_ One was the car she had been told to expect - old, rusty, and red - while the other was the huge, white van Anne had ridden in with the Joker and the other henchmen a week or so earlier. She had no idea why it had shown up as well. Furrowing her brow, she watched as both vehicles pulled into the driveway, their lights momentarily blinding her, before parking. She regained her eyesight just as the red car's passenger door opened, revealing the Joker himself.

He was dressed in his usual getup, face paint smudging in several places and allowing his skin to show through, making Anne assume he hadn't renewed the makeup in several days. As he slammed the car door behind him, he turned and caught the contract killer in his gaze, mouth working furiously in tandem with his scars. The corner of Anne's lips twitched upwards as J strode towards her, raindrops clinging to his hair and overcoat.

"You're up, babydoll," the Joker drawled once he was within earshot, spreading his arms wide and smiling that predatory grin of his. "Don't, uh, _fuck_ it up."

"Language," she pretended to admonish, beaming from ear to ear as J jogged up the porch steps and came to stand in front of her. Anne had never heard him curse before and she found it immensely funny.

He snorted at that, dead eyes giving her the once-over, taking in the eyeliner and crimson lipstick which had begun streaming down her face in light of the rain, the ragged Roulette outfit, and the black sweatshirt she had thrown over her holster to hide the Glock. His gaze stopped at the last one and he reached down to pull the handgun from her side, gloved hand turning it around for inspection before redirecting his focus to the contract killer.

"This," he began, tapping Anne's forehead with the gun's barrel, "is a, ah… a dead giveaway." His tongue slipped out between yellowed teeth, licking at his red scars. "Don't bring it."

"Ya want me to kill Alexei without a gun?" She asked in disbelief. It wasn't impossible by any means, Anne had been in a plethora of situations before where she had needed to eliminate a target without the use of a firearm, however this was a special circumstance. She was going to be used as bait for a man who had every logical reason to shoot her on sight and who would undoubtedly have a gun himself, not to mention the very real possibility that her ex-handler might not be coming alone. The odds were stacked against the contract killer even _with_ her Glock, but without it? It was nothing short of a suicide mission. And the Joker must've known it too. _Is this some sort of test?_ She wondered.

"Yeah." The word was soft, sounding more like an unconscious reflex on the Joker's part than an actual response. Furrowing her brow at the sudden disengagement, Anne raised her eyes to meet J's gaze, startled to find him staring at her with an unnerving stoniness. His entire countenance had become slack and devoid of emotion, with the exception of his pupils, which appeared to be burning with some fierce, imperceptible emotion. It was distinctly terrifying to look at. It made the contract killer wonder if the Joker, in some way, was angry with her. _Shit, what did I do?_

"Uh, okay…" Anne trailed off, unsure of what to do or say next. She suddenly got the impression she was treading on thin ice. Something was off, she could feel it. "Do ya want me to go now, or…?"

The Joker, whose cheeks seemed to be perpetually moving as he ran his tongue along the inside of scars, continued to stare deadpan at her for a moment before finally responding. " _Yep_ ," he sent her a grin which did not meet his eyes, "off ya go, Rou _lette_." The addition of her Russian alias gave Anne pause, and she lingered on the porch, standing uncertainly in front of the Joker, until, with an impatient snort, the clown himself shoved her towards the driveway.

Stumbling slightly at the sudden push, Anne regained her balance and jogged over to where the old, red car was parked, hopping into the passenger seat. As she sat down, the contract killer cast one last look over her shoulder to catch a parting glimpse of the Joker, who was staring through the rain after her. _See ya later, Mr. J._ She thought with a hint of indignation.

"Are you ready?" The voice of her driver pulled Anne's focus back to the task at hand. She shot the henchman, young yet probably still older than her, a disinterested glance.

"Uh huh," she grunted, yanking a cigarette out for the road. As she placed the Marlboro between her lips and lit it, the henchman backed out of the driveway and angled the car towards the Narrows, driving at a surprisingly reasonable speed. As they rode through Gotham's streets, she felt herself becoming more and more preoccupied with the Joker's strange behavior towards her. Sure the clown was, by his very nature, a strange man, but this had been different. Something was off. There had been a barely-concealed rage simmering within J, she had a nose for such things. Living in a constant state of fear throughout her childhood had left Anne with an acute sense of knowing when people were mad at her, particularly if that person posed a direct threat to her. And there could be no denying that Mr. J _certainly_ posed a threat.

"I'm Thomas, by the way." The henchman had spoken up again, this time breaking through her silent thought process in a distinctly irritating way.

"What?" She snapped, whipping her head around to glare at the man who dared to presume she wanted to speak with him.

"I'm Thomas," he repeated nonchalantly, apparently either oblivious or willfully ignorant to her clear annoyance.

Anne was just about to inform him that she didn't, in fact, give a flying fuck, when the realization of his name hit her. It was her father's name. _Haha, fuck you too, J._ She didn't doubt for a _second_ that the Joker had chosen this henchman to drive her purely due to his name; and the naivety with which Thomas had introduced himself made Anne suspect that he had no clue about J's machinations on the subject.

"Thomas, huh?" She prompted, keeping her voice casual and taking a drag on her cigarette. "Do ya know who I am, darling?" She inspected him carefully as she asked, watching the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"You're Roulette," he responded after only a moment's hesitation. "I was there when you told the boss. You know, in the parking garage a while back."

_That_ piqued her interest. Anne hadn't recognized the man, but that didn't mean much as she really hadn't made a point of remembering any of J's henchmen, the two exceptions being the man whose wife and daughter she had assassinated in Grozny and the one who had punched her in the face the night of Kat's kidnapping. But even then, she still didn't know their actual names. Only their faces.

"You were?" She blew a stream of smoke out of her nose, watching it congregate in the dimly lit car. "Well then lemme ask ya something, do you think I'm fucking the Joker?" Anne was not only genuinely curious, but also found it highly amusing to watch Thomas squirm with discomfort at the question. His reluctance to respond gave her an answer before he could even open his mouth.

"I mean…" He trailed off, pointedly avoiding Anne's gaze. "If anything, he's probably fucking _you_. Shit, no disrespect, but, you know…"

She actually cackled at that, inhaling some smoke too quickly and ending up in a coughing fit that was so violent it brought tears to her eyes. Once she had recovered, she sent Thomas an appraising look. "That's funny, darling." She waited a beat then added, "But we're not actually fucking. So ya can tell that to all the assholes calling me a whore or whatever."

Thomas cracked a grin. "What should I tell them about calling you a bitch?"

"Oh, that one's fine," Anne waved a dismissive hand, only half-joking. "They're right on the money with it." Taking another pull on her Marlboro, she turned and glanced over Thomas, taking stock of his appearance. He was young like all of J's henchmen, if she had to guess she would say somewhere around 26, the same age as Alexei. His arms had several tattoos criss-crossing them, another staple of the Joker's lackeys, however Thomas, more interestingly, also had small bruises blooming in the crook of his left elbow. Anne gave him a fiendish smile. "Nice track marks, by the way." He sent her a look at that. "Whatcha shooting up? Dope, meth? Or is it something _special_?"

"Why?" Thomas cocked an eyebrow, his tone bordering on challenging. "You want some?"

"Not if it's heroin," she clarified with a wink, "I got my own. But if it's _meth_?" Anne paused, watching the street lamps flash overhead. "Fuck, I haven't done that shit in like two years." She had only shot up meth once, with Alexei and his friends her first year in the Bratva. It had been fun, but it was hard to be a meth addict _and_ a contract killer. The paranoia which followed could be deadly in the midst of trying to complete a hit. It was a risk she hadn't been willing to take, especially not that early on in her Roulette career.

"It's dope," he informed her, seeming rather relieved she didn't want any. "I don't fuck around with meth."

"Not even crystal?" She prodded. Anne herself had never used the pipe (or snorted it, for that matter), she merely liked her teeth too much. Of course, the cigarettes fucked her teeth up too, giving them a yellowish cast, but whenever it got too bad she just whitened them. Smoking crystal, on the other hand, made teeth fall out, and Anne was far too vain to allow that to happen.

"Nah." Thomas shook his head as a clap of thunder split the air. "So, uh, how did _you_ even get on the boss's radar?" He rubbed his neck while he spoke, apparently uncertain about asking such a question but allowing his curiosity to override the hesitancy all the same. "I mean… why the fuck did he let a girl join him?"

Anne shot him a look at that, eyes flashing in the street lights. "I've got a body count higher than the rest of you pussies put together." She didn't bother to keep the irritation out of her voice. She was tired of people second-guessing her abilities because of her sex. The simple fact that she had survived close to five years in two different mob syndicates should've eliminated any questions about her place in organized crime. "I may not be a fucking genius like the Joker, but I'm good at killing." She took a drag on her cigarette, watching the embers burn brighter as she sucked the life from them. "It's really the only thing I'm good at."

Thomas looked incredulous. "A higher body count? How the fuck do you reckon that?" It was only then Anne realized that this man may have known her name, or rather her alias, but he clearly had _no_ idea what that alias entailed.

Sending him a smile which did not meet her eyes, she murmured, "I thought ya knew who I was." The henchman furrowed his brow at Anne's words, a twinge of uncertainty appearing in his gaze. Her grin widened. "I'm a contract killer, darling. Or I was." She amended, sucking on her teeth for a moment as she thought it over. "I'm not entirely sure what I am now."

"No, I knew you were an assassin or something like it." Thomas said, his voice unwavering. "I picked up on that when Adrian confronted you about murdering his family." _So that's his name._ "But still, that's a big fucking body count."

"Yeah, well, like I said," Anne blew a stream of smoke towards the henchman, grinning when he shot her an irritated look, "I'm good at killing."

Apparently deciding to ignore her clear attempt at provocation, Thomas cocked an eyebrow and asked, "Why do you do it? Murder people for a living, I mean."

She shot him an exasperated look. _Why does anyone do anything for a living, sweetheart?_ "The same reason ya got a shit ton of track marks, I guess." She took a drag on her Marlboro as she finished speaking, a nervous energy coursing through her veins. "And, like I've said _repeatedly_ , I'm fucking good at it."

Her remark appeared to do nothing but confuse Thomas, who furrowed his brow. "Okayyy… so then exactly how many people _have_ you killed?"

Anne snorted. "God, what kinda fucking question is that?" She was half-laughing, but even as apathetic as she was, the contract killer still realized that wasn't a topic you were supposed to bring up. _He's got some fucking balls._ "It's not like I keep track or some shit. What? Do ya think I have a diary where I record all my hits? Like, oh today I whacked a couple of rats for my boss, might see a movie later." She giggled at the joke, although noticeably Thomas did not join in. "Nah, darling, it's just a job." But even as the words left her mouth, she knew they weren't true. Not really. And she certainly would never have said anything of the sort to the Joker, for he would've called her out on the bullshit in two seconds.

"Killing dudes is just a job to you?" The tone with which he asked was rather scathing and Anne narrowed her eyes, wondering exactly what he was doing in the Joker's crew if he was so uncomfortable with the idea of thoughtless murder. _C'mon, honey, you're working for a domestic terrorist here._

"Oh no, killing men is a privilege." Anne joked, watching Thomas closely for his reaction. "It's when I have to kill women and children that it starts to feel like a job."

"Comforting." He shot back, then paused for a moment before adding heatedly, " _Children_?"

She clenched her jaw, irritated he had clung onto that little bit of information. "Uh huh." It wasn't as though Anne was proud of her track record, at least not that aspect of it. She just didn't think about it, it was easier that way. However, it _did_ annoy her when people acted surprised about the things she had done, as though they were expecting her, a contract killer, to have some higher moral code she adhered to. Not only did she find the entire concept of morality ridiculous, someone like Roulette couldn't even afford to have morals. _I can't pretend to be a good person, like most of these other fuckers do._ It was a luxury all the money in the world couldn't buy for Anne.

"So, what, you just decided that to make up for having a pussy you would be as evil as fucking possible?" Thomas gave a derisive snort. "Now I see why the Joker likes you."

"Ya know, for someone who thinks I'm evil, you have a big fucking mouth." She threw the cigarette butt out of the window as she spoke, fingers itching for her confiscated Glock.

"You wouldn't kill me," he scoffed. The deeply ingrained contrarian streak in Anne made her want to attack the man simply for the confidence with which he spoke the statement. But she didn't, still too unsure of her position within J's crew to be killing henchmen left and right, as much as she might've liked to. _Especially Adrian._ Her and the Chechen, apparently named Adrian, could hardly coexist peacefully for very long. Since the time he had confronted her in the warehouse, Anne had been planning his demise, she just needed to find the opportune moment.

"Keep it up, darling," was all she said, pulling out yet another Marlboro to calm her frayed nerves. She didn't usually chain smoke before a hit, but then again she was rarely this on-edge. Killing Alexei was one thing, but having to speak with her ex-handler (as Anne had no doubt she would have to, given the proximity they would be in) was quite another. Alexei always had a way of annoying her, probably due to the fact that he had been her superior in the Bratva, despite unequivocally being her inferior in every other way, something Anne would never cease to resent. _And I hated fucking him._ That was a big part of it too.

They rode in silence the rest of the way, Thomas apparently too enraged at finding out exactly who Roulette was to continue speaking to her. Eventually, he pulled the car into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse to which the Joker had brought Anne and the rest of the henchmen awhile back. The same one they had planned Alexei's murder in. _Fitting, I guess._

"This the place?" Anne asked, pulling a pair of gloves out of her pocket and putting them on.

"Yeah." Thomas nodded, hopping out of the car and motioning for her to do the same. She didn't need to be told twice. The chilly spring air, rolling off Gotham's bay, combined with the torrential downpour, hit Anne the second she stepped onto the gravel of the old parking lot. She immediately shivered, the bracing gale rendered unbearable when coupled with the rain. Turning, she noticed Thomas had opened the trunk of the car and was bent over rummaging around in it.

"Whatcha doing?" She called out, narrowing her eyes cautiously and tossing her now useless cigarette onto the ground. The henchman's stoney silence served as a sudden, visceral reminder of Anne's lack of a gun.

A moment later Thomas straightened up, slinging a duffel bag over one shoulder and slamming the trunk closed. He didn't even cast her a second look, instead pointing towards the warehouse and pocketing his keys at the same time. "Come on," he instructed with a certain gruffness that left Anne pissed.

Still wary, she followed the henchman at a slow pace, making sure to remain at least two steps behind him at all times. It was only then that she noticed the piece Thomas had tucked into the back of his belt, barely noticeable behind his jacket. But Anne was good at spotting concealed weapons, and there was no mistaking the signature bulge a handgun's grip produced. The sight of it made a plan - hazy and only half-formed - arise in her mind.

By the time they reached one of the back doors to the warehouse, she was soaked to the bone, her makeup streaming and her ponytail hanging limply. Thomas, apparently unperturbed by the freezing rain, merely shoved open the door and strode inside, Anne at his heels. He took a few paces before finding a light switch and flipping it on, a couple of overhead lights blazing to life at the action. Still, the entire building remained dimly lit, with the huge, metal shipping containers casting eerie shadows across the concrete floor. Anne took it all in with a studious gaze, raindrops slipping from the tip of her nose as she raised her eyes to inspect the ceiling.

"Alright," Thomas's voice redirected her attention back to him, and Anne watched as he set the damp duffel bag down and unzipped it, producing plastic cuffs and duct tape. "The boss says I should tie you up, to make it look more real."

_Yeah right, honey._ Anne was more than a little worried now, and she began to suspect that the Joker may not have been completely truthful about the nature of her trip here. She didn't know what sort of secrets were being kept from her, but she had no doubt there was something she was missing. With that thought in mind, she sent Thomas her most sincere smile, smudged red lips splitting to reveal her teeth. "Okay." She kept her voice complacent and held out her hands obediently, inviting him to put the plastic cuffs on.

This clearly put Thomas on guard as well, surprised at her sudden lack of resistance. However, his apparent conviction that Anne wouldn't - or couldn't - kill him overcame the hesitance and he gave a shrug and walked towards her. _Idiot._ She waited until he was within reach before twisting and flipping forwards, angling her body sideways so that the action was less of a complete front flip and more of a rotating handstand. Working swiftly, she grabbed Thomas's neck with her calves and used the momentum from the move to throw him to the ground. When she flipped upright again, Anne was on the man in no time, kicking him in the abdomen to momentarily incapacitate him before shoving him onto his stomach. Thomas recovered from the kick surprisingly fast and made to roll over, lashing out with his foot. Anne merely side-stepped the effort and stepped on his shoulder, forcing him back down. Satisfied that he wouldn't be able to retaliate, she reached behind the man's jacket and yanked his gun out.

"Fuck you-" He began to say, until Anne silenced him with two bullets to the head. _Like I said, honey, I'm good at killing._ The sound of the gun discharging was deafening, and a ringing began faintly in her ears. Cursing the noise, she inspected her newly acquired handgun, finding that it was a Smith and Wesson M&P. Pretty reliable, as it was mainly aimed towards police officers, however Anne still preferred the Glock 19. Next, she ejected and checked the mag, making sure it was mostly full (minus the two bullets she had just used and the one in the chamber), before shoving it back into the gun and placing the M&P into her shoulder holster, which had been conspicuously empty up until that point.

Looking up, her eyes then found the duffel bag which Thomas had carried in and went to check it, bringing with her the duct tape and plastic handcuffs the henchman had so unwisely attempted to use. Throwing the restraints in, Anne knelt down and ripped the bag open as wide as the fabric would allow, scouring the insides with her eyes, looking for a clue that would give her any idea as to what was going on. She didn't have to look far. The glinting of metal caught her eye, and she delicately picked up what could only be a homemade detonator. _No…_

"No, fuck. No no no no no. God, _fuck_!" Springing to her feet, mouth hung open in shock, she ran a hand through her ponytail as she realized just how screwed she was. _He betrayed me… J fucking betrayed me. He's gonna blow me up._ It all made sense now, the Joker hadn't been luring Alexei to the warehouse so that Anne could murder him, he had been setting them both up to be killed by a bomb, eliminating two potential enemies in one fell swoop. Presumably, Alexei would also be bringing with him other members of the Bratva (as Anne seriously doubted he would dare to confront her, even weaponless and at his mercy, alone), upping the efficiency of the explosion. Anne assumed the Joker had told Thomas to restrain her, wait until Alexei and his men showed up and entered the warehouse, and then detonate the bomb. This meant that all the little tests J had put her through, from asking her to tell him a 'ghost story' to bringing up her father, hadn't been inspecting her for long term loyalty, but rather prodding to see just how far gone she really was in her obsession with him. _He wanted to see how blind I had become._ Anne realized, suddenly feeling sick. _I never even suspected it was all an act. He might've been having fun, but the whole time he looked at me and saw nothing but a way to get back at the Bratva and run them out of Gotham for good._

Maybe he had been strangely attracted to her in whatever sense J was even capable of that (the obvious flirtations and numerous little games he had played on her attested to that), but the Joker was a man who never let his humanity interfere with his work, something Anne had once prided herself on as well, before meeting the clown. She wondered, strangely, if J's anger towards her right before she had left the house had been a manifestation of his own annoyance at feeling oddly attached to Anne, despite his better judgment. He had clearly (and unfortunately) decided to kill her anyway, but the anger he had been feeling gave the contract killer the smallest glimmer of hope. The Joker didn't hate her, he had merely decided to have her murdered out of pragmatism and a deep-seated desire to get back at the Bratva for daring to try and assassinate him. Winning Anne over to his side had been a personal victory for Mr. J, but it did little good in his revenge against the Russians, in which apparently she was counted a member.

Still, despite her best attempts to rationalize the Joker's betrayal out in her head, Anne was still enormously hurt - and _furious_. Those emotions mixed potently with her overwhelming sense of panic at the immediate proximity of a bomb, as she highly doubted the detonator found within the duffel bag had been the only one. Anne was willing to bet her life (and strangely enough, she may have been doing just that) on the assumption that J had at _least_ one more detonator on his person, with the possibility of yet another existing as well, perhaps given to a somewhat-trusted henchman or simply tucked away for safekeeping. That meant Anne had one of two choices regarding the bomb: she could merely grab the duffel bag, detonator and all, and retreat a safe distance to wait for Alexei to show up before blowing him and his men up herself, or she could attempt to find the bomb and defuse it. The first option was undoubtedly the safer of the two, but Anne wasn't exactly someone who could be described as a paragon of caution. Not to mention the Joker had placed a tracker in her neck, and while she had no idea how accurately it could pinpoint her location, there was always the chance that he would be able to tell she had left the warehouse prematurely and come looking for her. The second option, while being the more dangerous of the two, would allow her to kill Alexei with her own hands, something she was desperate to do. Of course this option also had a very high chance in ending with the Joker showing up to see why the bomb had not gone off, but Anne would much rather the clown come to her while she was holed up in the warehouse than lead him on another wild goose chase.

Deciding to go with the second option, Anne realized she didn't have long before Alexei showed, and wasted no time in getting to work. First, she had to call the one person in Gotham - hell, in the world - whom it appeared she could consistently rely upon: Kat. _My last friend,_ she thought, then paused and amended silently. _Well, calling her a friend at this point might be generous._ The two girls had had several falling outs, some of them violent, but it was nothing they hadn't been through a thousand times before in their youth. And somehow, someway, they always remained tightly knit, as if the shared trauma they had experienced growing up inextricably linked them forever, even if they only remained 'friends' out of necessity.

Pulling herself out of thought, Anne raced back over to where Thomas's corpse lay and checked it's pockets until she found a burner phone. _Bingo!_ Then, thinking it would probably be best if she actually _located_ the bomb she was trying to defuse first, straightened up and began combing through the warehouse inch by inch, desperately searching as fast as she dared. Surprisingly, it didn't take very long.

She found it in the very back of the warehouse, tucked away inside one of the massive shipping containers. It was relatively small, a simple square made from a white, clay-like substance which had a blasting cap and trigger wired to it. Anne recognized it immediately as C-4. _Oh, thank god._ C-4 was a common explosive material, and she therefore assumed it would be relatively easy to defuse. All things considered.

Taking the bomb from it's darkened crate, Anne gingerly placed it under the warehouse's lights, not wanting to deal with it in pitch blackness. Then, she flipped open Thomas's phone and dialed Kat, praying the girl would pick up, as she usually did when receiving a call from an unknown number.

"Yeah?" Her friend's voice cutting off the ringer sent a wave of relief through Anne, who closed her eyes briefly in thanks before responding.

"It's me," she said, squatting down in front of the bomb. "I need your help."

" _Anne_?" Kat sounded equal parts shocked and enraged, as if these phone calls hadn't become a staple of their friendship. "Is that really fucking you?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" She snapped, in no mood to waste time with smalltalk.

There was a sharp, furious inhale from Kat's end at that. "I dunno, I just couldn't believe you would have the fucking balls to ask for _my_ help again. I mean really, love." The girl's tone indicated that, although she was undoubtedly angry, there was also some semblance of a grudging admiration for the astounding lack of shame Anne possessed. "You're asking for _my_ help? Why don't _you_ first tell me what you were fucking doing at my apartment the other night? Just breaking in without my knowledge so that Batman, out of all fucking people, has to tell me you were there!" Kat paused, as if trying to remember what else she was mad at the contract killer for. "Oh and what the fuck was that note from the Joker about? I mean, that was creepy as shit. Is he seriously targeting Gordon's wife?" The part about the commissioner's wife was news to Anne, however the shock of the statement was somewhat lost on her as she was forced to count in her head or risk blowing up in anger at the girl's incessant questions.

Only when it appeared that Kat had finished speaking did the contract killer take a deep breath and say through gritted teeth, "Look, darling, I can answer all your questions later," the lie, which had been sitting on the tip of her tongue, came easy, "but right now I'm sitting in front of a fucking bomb. So, ya know, time is kinda of the essence."

"Are you fucking serious?" Kat, much to Anne's indignation, didn't even sound the least bit concerned; if anything, she merely sounded exhausted with just a smidge of surprise. "Jesus, Anne… I mean what did you _think_ was gonna happen when you get in bed with someone like the Joker? First he's fucking you, and then he's tryna blow you up. That's honestly to be expected from a guy who runs around dressed up like a clown."

Anne was actually stunned into silence for a few, precious seconds, astounded that Kat had made the connection between the bomb and the Joker right off the bat. Once she had regained her composure, however, a general annoyance at the girl took center stage in her mind. "Hey, I didn't even say the bomb was meant for me!" She snapped, not wanting to give Kat the satisfaction of being right. "It could be for literally anyone in this fucking city, people get blown up all the time." She paused for a beat, then added as an afterthought, "Oh, and for the last time I'm not fucking J."

Apparently deciding to ignore Anne's point about the bomb, Kat replied succinctly, "Well, if you're not actually sleeping with him, then that little nickname certainly makes it sound like you wish you were."

Anne rolled her eyes at that. "God, fuck off, I literally have a fucking _bomb_ a foot away from me. Okay?" She furrowed her brow, feeling more anxious by the second. "I just- I need your help defusing it."

"Oh, so the bomb _is_ meant for you." Her friend's voice was filled with triumph at being proven right.

"I didn't say that," Anne immediately countered, "I just need to defuse this shit is all."

"Yeah, but if the bomb wasn't meant for you, you wouldn't be bothering to defuse it in the first place." There was a certain smugness in Kat's tone while she spoke, as if rubbing in the fact that she had figured out such a key aspect of the contract killer's personality. "And, anyways, what the fuck do you want _me_ to do about it? I don't know shit about defusing bombs, I'm sure you know more than I do."

"I just need ya to look it up," Anne informed the girl, pointedly refusing to acknowledge that the bomb was, in fact, meant for her, "I don't have access to a computer right now. And, trust me, I don't know shit about defusing bombs either. I can make napalm and Molotov cocktails, that's it." She cast a look down at the mass of white substance in front of her. "But I have no clue what goes into C-4."

"So, let me get this straight," Kat began with the air of someone who didn't quite grasp the dire situation Anne was in, "you want me, your totally unqualified friend who has little to no experience dealing with shit like this, to just go online and search how to defuse an actual bomb? Because you, the international assassin, have no one better to ask and no idea how to do it yourself?"

Gritting her teeth, Anne took another long, calming breath before responding, not trusting herself to remain civil in the face of the girl's continual delays. " _Yeah_ ," she nearly spat, "that about sums it up."

"Jesus christ, alright." There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line. "I'll do it. Just a sec." The contract killer heard Kat get up and begin walking. "But remember you owe me, _big time_. And not just for this, for everything."

"Sweetheart, every time I don't put a bullet in your head for pissing me off I remember that." Kat actually gave an abrupt laugh at that, the noise devoid of any real amusement.

"You wouldn't kill me, love," the girl replied lazily - her classic, dismissive move - as the sound of typing followed her words.

Anne narrowed her eyes, feeling the contrarian streak in her rear its ugly head once again. "Ya know, there's a body a couple feet away of someone who said those exact words to me."

Kat didn't seem fazed. "Is it the Joker's body?" She asked, rather surprising Anne.

"No."

"Then I'm not worried." More typing and then the clicking of a mouse. "I'll become worried the day you finally grow some balls and kill that clown you're apparently not fucking." Kat's tone had an airy quality to it, and Anne felt distinctly out of joint at her friend's newfound apathy mingled with confidence. Perhaps it stemmed from the threat Kat had given her during their last face-to-face encounter, where the girl had informed Anne that her boyfriend (or, rather, sugar daddy) had been told all about Roulette and would go to the cops should anything happen to his girlfriend, and vice versa.

Sucking on her teeth at the thought, Anne replied with all the sweetness of poison, "Well, tonight might be your lucky night, honey." She was still fuming over the Joker's actions, and a serious debate was waging within her over whether or not she should put a bullet in his clownface when he inevitably showed up at the warehouse to check on his bomb. Of course, away from the man's intoxicating aura, it was easy for Anne to ponder killing him. But once she was truly confronted with the Joker, it would become a very different story. "The bastard fucking betrayed me," she added, more so reminding herself than informing Kat.

"Really? _Shocking_." Kat's unsurprised tone was drenched in sarcasm. "I can't believe a psychopathic madman would do such a thing." Before Anne could think of a scathing reply, the girl added, "You said C-4, right?"

Swallowing her anger with great difficulty, Anne nodded to the empty air. "Yeah, that's the explosive part."

"Well, this website claims all you have to do is remove the blasting caps from the C-4 or disconnect them from the trigger, depending on how the bomb is set up." A seriousness had replaced Kat's nonchalant air, and Anne could imagine the girl sitting at her computer, brow scrunched in concentration as she read off the instructions. "Oh, wait-!" The girl's shout stilled Anne's hands, which had been reaching for the device strapped to the C-4. "It says that sometimes bombs can have redundancy mechanisms which detonate the device if they're tampered with."

The contract killer gritted her teeth at that, assuming the Joker would've included one of those. "Fuck, okay. Then what do I do?" She sat back on her haunches, a cold sweat beginning to break out across her forehead, which was already damp from the rain. "Maybe… I dunno, maybe I can cut most of the C-4 away from the device so that if it does detonate, the explosion will be a lot fucking smaller."

"I don't think that's how it works, love," Kat replied, her voice surprisingly soft.

"Ya don't _think_?" Anne snapped, anxiety about the situation only exacerbating her irritation. "I don't need ya to think, darling, I need you to fucking _know_!"

Kat remained quiet for a moment, as if absorbing the contract killer's anger and deciding what to do with it. "Can't you just run?" She asked delicately. "It sounds like you have enough time to get the fuck outta there. Let the bomb detonate, who gives a fuck?"

"I do!" Anne practically roared. " _I_ fucking care, Kat!" She slammed her fist onto the concrete floor, ignoring the bruising pain it brought. "The Joker is _not_ outsmarting me again, do ya understand?" Her voice was rising with every syllable she spoke, using her anger to cover the deep pain she felt beneath it all. "He needs to know I'm not just some fucking doll who can be discarded when he gets tired of playing with it, I'm fucking Rou _lette_!" Anne jabbed a finger at her chest as she yelled, despite being utterly alone. "I was chosen to kill him, not the other way 'round." _I'm in control,_ she thought desperately. "Do ya know what I've been through? I should be fucking dead." She paused. "And yet here I am." Her voice had quieted down now, and she had almost forgotten she was speaking to Kat. "If I've survived for this long, then this fucker certainly isn't gonna be the thing that finally gets me. Understand?"

Silence greeted Anne's words as she stopped, chest heaving. Kat allowed the quiet to stretch between the two girls for a long while before finally breaking it with a sigh. "Alright, Anne, but if I have to listen to you blow up I'm not gonna be happy about it."

The contract killer actually chuckled at that, relieved to hear her friend acquiesce. "Noted."

"Great… so let's see what we can do…" The girl trailed off, the sound of a mouse punctuating her words. "Is the C-4 block electrically or non-electrically primed?"

"Uhh," Anne looked back down at the mass of white in front of her, wishing Alexei had found time in her training regiment to teach her about explosives. "How do ya tell?"

"I think non-electrically primed devices are usually mounted with timers, like a countdown you'd see in movies." Anne tried not to roll her eyes at that, deciding that Kat's best guess was what she would have to go with in this situation.

"Well this doesn't have a timer, so it must be electrically primed." _Hopefully_ , she added in her head. In truth she had no fucking clue, but she decided that if Kat could get her through this alive, Anne would never again doubt her friend's abilities as an asset. _Maybe she can be my new Pari._ The thought amused her, knowing that Kat, for all her qualities, would never amount to the genius of Pari. _Which is too bad, since I'm still gonna have to kill that bitch eventually._

"Are there wires traveling from the device into the C-4?" Kat asked next.

Anne squinted at the bomb, noticing two wires poking out of the white mass. "Uh huh," she related. "Two of 'em."

"Okay, it says here that they channel the electric current into the device, so you should cut them both."

"That's not gonna set off the bomb?" Anne queried, standing up to go search Thomas's corpse once more, this time looking for a knife or pair of scissors.

At her question, she could practically hear Kat shrug through the phone. "I dunno, but I don't think so, since you're not gonna be tampering with the actual device itself." Anne snorted at that, kneeling beside the blood soaked remains of J's henchman and checking his pockets. Nothing.

Clucking her tongue in annoyance, she wandered over to the duffel bag, hoping her luck would improve there. "Where are ya even getting all this information?" She demanded while she rummaged through the damp bag. Thankfully, she found a small switchblade concealed within and pulled it out with a smile.

"Yahoo answers," Kat replied with only a hint of amusement.

"You're kidding," she groaned, walking back over to the bomb and flicking the switchblade open. "God, if this fucking works, I'm never telling anyone."

"Well," Kat piped up helpfully, "if it doesn't work, then you _certainly_ won't be telling anyone."

Anne grinned at that, taking a cigarette out and placing it between her lips with a shaky hand. She figured if she was going to die, it might as well be doing something she loved. "Right ya are, honey." Lighting the Marlboro, she took a deep inhale and stared down at the C-4 with apprehension. "Okay, I'm cuttin' the wires," she murmured, her front teeth clamping down on the cigarette while she brought the blade towards the bomb, trying to ignore her unsteadiness. _Please let this fucking work,_ she thought, closing her eyes briefly. When they opened again, she reached down and sliced the wires as quickly as her hand would allow, not wanting to draw the tension out any longer. Nothing happened.

"Nothing happened," Anne repeated aloud, brow furrowing. "Does that mean it worked?"

"I mean, I'd say so." Kat sounded happy, both at the fact that the contract killer was still alive _and_ because it meant the girl's information hadn't been faulty. "Now you can pull the blasting cap out and it shouldn't detonate."

"Fuck yeah," Anne beamed, cutting the straps which held the device to the C-4 just in case. Using the flat edge of the switchblade, she pried open the little metal box containing the bomb's inner mechanisms and yanked out the blasting cap. Once again, nothing stirred within. It appeared as though the girls had been successful. " _Fuck yeah_!" Anne repeated, this time slamming her hand onto the concrete in celebration.

"It worked?" Kat's voice broke through the phone, and Anne could hear her hopeful grin.

"It fucking worked," Anne relayed, half-stunned at the success herself. "I forgive ya for everything you've ever done, honey."

The girl gave an abrupt, derisive laugh at that. "Oh, you forgive _me_?" She asked, her voice full of acid. "Wow, _thanks_."

Anne chuckled at the sarcasm, gathering up the remnants of the bomb and storing them back in the shipping container where they had been found. "Seriously though, thanks," she murmured. "And, uh, I'm not sure what's gonna happen tonight but you should probably get the fuck outta your apartment. It's not safe." Anne walked over to the duffel bag as she talked, gathering it up and hiding it within one of the metal containers as well. "Go stay with Rob or something." While she was loath to tell her friend to go see that man, it was preferable to having Kat fall into the Joker's hands yet again.

"Why? What isn't safe?" Kat demanded, a note of panic beginning to creep into her voice.

"It's a long story," Anne muttered, glancing at Thomas's corpse. "Just stay out of your apartment tonight." She pocketed the switchblade as she finished speaking, eyes scouring the warehouse for any sign that Alexei and his men had entered while she was unaware. She found none.

"Um, alright." Kat swallowed audibly, and the contract killer had a feeling she was about to say something irritating. "Uh, Anne, can I… can I, uh, ask you something?"

_God, just spit it out._ "Sure, sweetheart. But make it quick." Her reply undoubtedly sounded lofty, but Anne thought the girl should just be glad it hadn't been drenched in sarcasm. She hated when Kat danced around the point, as she so often did, especially when speaking to Anne. It was as though the girl wasn't sure whether she could talk to the contract killer the way she had once spoken to Anne, before the latter had left for Russia. Even after having been reunited for close to two months, there was still an uncertainty in Kat about who her friend had become.

The girl took a shaky, steadying breath before saying, "Have you, uh, ever killed children?" There was genuine fear, or perhaps apprehension, in Kat's voice, and she added, "I'm not talking about teenagers, 'cause I know you've killed those, but like whatever. I mean actual children. Kids." There was another tremulous pause. "Babies."

The sudden interest in Anne's career was suspicious, and the contract killer wondered whether Kat had been researching Roulette. She doubted it, as Kat was someone who gladly and willfully turned a blind eye to everything her friends and family did, but still, the question brooked misgivings within Anne. _Nah, there's no way she researched me,_ she reassured herself. _She wouldn't have to ask if she had._

After a moment of silence, Anne replied. "No." The lie was ready on her lips. "Never." She swore she heard Kat heave a sigh of relief at that. "Why?"

"No, nothing, it's just…" The girl trailed off, and in her silence Anne heard the sound of car tires crunching on gravel outside. _Alexei._ "Well-"

"Sorry, honey, I gotta go." She took the phone away from her ear and slammed it shut, cutting off Kat's sentence. Pocketing the phone, she took one last drag on her cigarette before tossing it onto the ground and extinguishing it with the tip of her boot.

Looking around for a place to hide, Anne noticed the trail of water she was leaving behind wherever she walked, courtesy of the rainstorm. _It'll lead them right to me._ Cursing her drenched clothing, she gazed up at the numerous shipping containers spread throughout the warehouse, spaced just closely enough that she figured she would be able to jump from one to the other with relative ease and stealth. Mind made up, she dashed towards the back of the building, finding a smaller container and clambering onto it with minimal difficulties.

Just as Anne made it to the top, one of the warehouse doors slammed open with an audible bang. Clenching her jaw, she laid down flat on her stomach, the cool metal chilling her already cold, soaked body. Praying that the darkness would hide her, she watched with bated breath as Alexei and five other Bratva men streamed into the building, guns drawn. From the first, it was clear that Alexei had been anticipating Anne to put up some sort of a fight, given that he looked remarkably agitated and panicked, head flicking from side to side as though he was expecting her to be hidden in every shadow. _Pussy,_ she thought, smirking into the darkness.

"Где она?" One of the men asked, furrowing his brow and looking to Alexei for instruction. However, as the first man spoke up, another was pointing to Thomas's body with a shout, leaning down to inspect it.

"Дерьмо." Even from a distance, Anne could see Alexei's face go white as he glared at the corpse. She assumed he was piecing it all together in his mind while he stood there, realizing that the murder was undoubtedly Roulette's doing. Grimacing, he lowered his gun and turned back to the Bratva men. "Найди ее!" He growled, motioning with his pistol's barrel to the vast expanse of the warehouse. "Она должна быть здесь."

At his words, the men fanned out to search for Anne, looking only faintly apprehensive. As they wandered deeper into the building, Alexei cursed yet again and withdrew a cell phone from his pocket, he himself staying firmly in the part of the warehouse which the overhead lights and windows illuminated.

Anne watched the other men out of the corner of her eye as they checked inside the various shipping containers, but made no move to leave her current hiding spot, far too curious about the phone call Alexei was about to make. _Who ya calling, honey?_ She propped herself up on her elbows as far as she dared, hoping to get a better view while her ex-handler dialed and brought the cell up to his ear, an anxious frown tugging at his mouth.

"She's not here," Alexei spoke into the phone's transmitter after a moment, presumably when the other line had picked up. "There is only some fucking dead man. Looks like he was shot." The fact that her ex-handler was speaking English made Anne assume it was the Joker on the other end, which only furthered her interest in the call. "He was one of yours, no?" _Oh yeah, definitely J._

Alexei remained silent for a moment, face drawn, as the Joker responded, although Anne was too far away to hear even a hint of the clown's voice. "Yes, I think she killed him." As Alexei spoke up again, something on the ground apparently caught his eye and he reached down to pick up what Anne immediately recognized as the crumpled remains of her last Marlboro, complete with a ring of red lipstick. Realization came upon the handler's features. "Oh no, it was _definitely_ her." She watched with something bordering fascination as Alexei touched the end of the cigarette, which she figured was still warm. The look on his face all but confirmed her suspicions. "Рулетка еще здесь! Найди ее _сейчас_!" He roared to his men, flinging the Marlboro onto the ground. A renewed sense of panic seemed to come over him at that revelation, and Anne felt satisfaction burning deep within as she witnessed just how afraid of her Alexei truly was when she wasn't safely subjugated beneath his thumb.

What interested Anne the most, however, was why the Joker had apparently given Alexei a number to reach him by. If Mr. J had really told her ex-handler that Roulette had been kidnapped and was being kept in this warehouse, there would be no reason for the two men to have an open line of communication with each other. And yet here they were, speaking rather cordially on the phone, as if it wasn't the first time they had talked. _What did you fucking do, J?_ Anne began to have a feeling that the Joker had not only betrayed her by attempting to blow her up, but had also lied about the methods used to lure Alexei to the warehouse. Her ex-handler's next remark confirmed the theory.

"Do you think she caught on? What did you tell her again?" Alexei continued to look around, gun slightly raised and expression fraught. At the Joker's response, however, he gave a short laugh. "Ah, Roulette is no fucking idiot, Joker. I know she's just some fucking bitch, but she has good instincts. She is good at surviving, as I'm sure you are aware. I bet she figured the whole thing out quick and put a couple of bullets in your man here." He shook his head. "Although, I'm still at a loss as to why you could not just bring her to us yourself. If you really do want to show the Bratva your goodwill, that would have been easier, no? Why leave her here?" There was a pronounced pause, then, "Hello? Joker? Hello?" It appeared the clown had hung up, and Anne had a feeling she knew why.

She couldn't be sure, but she assumed the Joker had attempted to detonate the bomb only to realize Alexei was still very much alive and well the next second. _Take that, you little fucker._ Fighting the urge to punch the air in celebration, she watched as Alexei pocketed the cell phone, now looking more perturbed than ever. "Что за Блядь?" She heard him mutter, before holstering his gun and striding towards the warehouse exit. "Найти Рулетка!" He called to the Bratva men. "Я буду ждать в машине." Although he claimed to be merely waiting in the car, Anne knew Alexei and had no doubt he was going to make several unsavory phone calls to Mikhas which he did not want the men hearing. _And he doesn't wanna be in here with me on the loose._ The last part of his reasoning gave her a particularly vicious joy and she tracked his retreating back with a careful eye, already formulating a plan for luring him back inside.

But that would have to wait, right now she had more pressing matters on her hands in the form of the five other Bratva men Alexei had brought with him. Anne didn't recognize any of them, and she presumed they had already been stationed in Gotham before her return to the city, meaning she would have never interacted with any of them while still in Russia. This was both an advantage and a disadvantage, as it meant that while the men would most likely underestimate Anne, having no idea what she was capable of, _she_ also had to be careful of underestimating _them_. The contract killer doubted any of them were particularly skilled hitmen (most likely they were merely street-level enforcers whom Alexei had gathered around him at the last moment), but they still posed a threat to her simply by virtue of their numbers and weapons. If she could keep them separated within the maze of shipping containers, Anne liked her chances, but if they all converged on her at once, she would have no hope. Right now, with the men spread out within the warehouse, it would be easy to pick them off one by one, provided she kept relatively quiet and disappeared into the darkness before the others were alerted she was murdering one of their cohorts.

The quiet part would be particularly hard to achieve, as the handgun she had acquired was not fixed with a suppressor, and while she _did_ have a switchblade, killing someone in perfect silence was generally difficult to do. Hopefully, the minimal amount of noise she would inevitably make would be picked up by the others too late, and Anne would have time to melt into the shadows before any of them could come running. It was a huge gamble, but she was used to high stakes.

It was with this thought in mind that she noticed one of the men wandering tantalizingly close to her hiding place. Flipping onto her back, Anne scooted as near to the edge as she dared, craning her neck to watch as he crept along the side of the shipping container, on high alert. She waited, holding her breath until the man's back was turned to her, then, with as much stealth as she could manage, Anne jumped down. Landing lightly behind the man, she flicked open her switchblade and wasted no time grabbing his head. Covering his mouth with her free hand, she simultaneously yanked his chin backwards, allowing easy access to the throat. Then, reaching up with as much strength as she could muster, she used the blade to slice open his carotid artery.

The whole thing was over in a minute, giving the man no time to react beyond feebly swiping at Anne while blood spewed relentlessly from the cut. Thankfully, he wasn't able to fire a round off before he died and she made sure to quickly catch the weapon as it slid from his lifeless hands, averting as much noise as possible. She continued to hold the man's convulsing body against her until she was positive he had completely bled out, the warm, metallic liquid gushing across her arm and torso. Only when the corpse had gone still did she gently lay it upon the concrete floor, ejecting the magazine from his gun and pocketing it herself. _One down, four to go._

Rushing to the back of the container, Anne clutched the bloodied knife to her chest and closed her eyes, listening as hard as she could for any noise which would give her an idea of where the others were. A rustle of fabric to the left caught her attention and without hesitation she dove to the side, rolling across the open space which separated the crate she had been hiding behind from the one she was trying to reach, hoping no one noticed the movement. When she came up from the somersault to find herself safely out of view, Anne relaxed slightly and took a moment to catch her breath, leaning against the cool metal of the shipping container. _Ya got this, honey,_ she told herself. _These aren't the bastards who are gonna finish you off._

With that thought in mind, she straightened up, pressing her back flat against the container and peering around the corner. Thankfully, Anne only spotted one man within her immediate field of vision, however he was _much_ larger than the first Bratva enforcer had been and she realized she would need to incapacitate him swiftly if she was to have any hope of survival. Eyeing the terrain, she calculated how far away the man was and how quickly she would be able to sprint to him. _Fuck, this better work._ Deciding to take the risk - and praying he wasn't an expert marksman - Anne darted out from her hiding space, racing towards the huge container positioned directly across from her target.

The man saw her immediately and fired, however it appeared he was _not_ an expert marksman as she had feared, and missed Anne by a wide berth. Grinning, she reached the shipping container and, instead of colliding into it headfirst, sprang upwards, the momentum sending her careening across the side of the metal for two strides until she kicked off, aiming at the man. His eyes widened as she came hurtling towards him feet-first, slamming into his body at such a high speed he (thankfully) didn't have time to turn his pistol and shoot Anne point blank.

The force with which the collision had taken place knocked them both to the ground, with the contract killer coming out on top. _Fuck yeah!_ Giving a grunt, she wasted no time in ripping the man's gun away with one hand while the other brought her own knife down on his throat and chest repeatedly. The blood spray, as a result of the violent stab wounds, was nothing short of impressive, with Anne's face and shoulders getting covered in the sticky substance. Then, once she had created ten ragged holes in the man and was certain of his demise, she stumbled back to her feet, taking his magazine as well.

This time, however, the kill had been decidedly noisy and Anne could hear the remaining three Bratva men scrambling her way. Thinking fast, she raced in the opposite direction of the sound, waiting until she had sought cover behind one of the containers to throw the mag she was holding against the nearest wall.

The crashing sound got their attention, as she had hoped. "Пойти посмотреть что это было," one of them growled to the other. Anne waited, standing at the very corner of the container, until she saw the barrel of a pistol beginning to pass by, at which point she sprang into action. Kicking the weapon straight up and out of the man's hands, she pivoted, leg raised, and caught the side of his head with her heel. The kick smashed his face into the side of the metal, knocking him out cold. Then, turning, she caught the handgun she had sent flying upwards and shot at the two remaining men as they rounded a corner, the commotion drawing their attention.

They both returned fire. Thankfully, however, she killed one of them almost instantaneously, her bullets hitting the enforcer in the chest and face. The other then wised up and dove for cover. Cursing, Anne retreated back behind the shipping container again to concoct another plan. It was only then, when the immediate adrenaline of facing gunfire had faded that she felt a searing pain in her right thigh. _What the…?_

Looking down, she noticed a bloody tear in her already frayed cargo pants, and realized she had been hit. _Really? Again?_ The frequency with which Anne had been getting shot was increasing at a startling rate and she wondered whether Gotham really would be the death of her. Fortunately, the bullet once again had only skimmed her flesh and the wound itself appeared to be rather shallow, meaning she would be able to fight for some time yet before it would have to be stitched up or risk infection. Still, it fucking hurt.

Exhaling slowly as she thought, Anne reached down and pulled the other magazine from her pocket, deciding to merely reuse her previous plan. Then, creeping alongside the shipping container, made her way to the opposite end of the crate, on the other side of which she knew the last remaining Bratva man lurked. Setting her jaw, she stepped briefly out into the open and hurled the magazine as hard as she could in front of her, hoping the noise would attract the man and cause him to step out from _his_ hiding place, presumably with his back already to her. Miraculously (or perhaps not, considering the median intelligence of street-level enforcers), the plan worked yet again and the man dashed into the firing line with astounding confidence. Anne dispatched him with a single shot to the head, the range so close that bits of brain and gore splattered back at her.

Wrinkling her nose, she turned and meandered over to where she had left the unconscious body of the only enforcer who had not yet been killed, merely knocked out cold. Or so Anne thought. When she made it to the still form, however, and checked it's pulse, she found that the head trauma the man had sustained from the combined effort of her kick and the metal crate had been sufficient to rob him of his life. Scratching her head, Anne frowned in amazement, never having achieved such a feat before. _Shit, I really killed someone with a single kick._ Technically, it had not only been her blow which had finished the man off, but she chose to ignore that. _Now for Alexei_ , she thought, turning her back on the corpse. It was the task Anne had originally set out to accomplish, however in the immediate aftermath of finding out J had betrayed her, that particular objective had suddenly lowered on her list of priorities. Now, it was at the top.

Climbing onto a shipping container which was positioned against one of the warehouse's walls, close to a front window, Anne limped over to the glass panes and gazed out, making sure Alexei was still waiting in the overgrown parking lot. He was. _Perfect._ Pulling out the cell phone she had taken off of Thomas's corpse, Anne dialed her ex-handler's number and watched with sadistic delight as Alexei suddenly got a call from an unknown number.

With only the slightest bit of perceptible hesitation, he answered. "Привет?"

"Привет, зайка." Absent-mindedly circling her gunshot wound with a finger while she talked, Anne found a grin tugging at her lips. "Давно не виделись."

"Pулетка?" His voice wavered only slightly, but it was enough to give the contract killer a surge of fiendish delight.

"Bingo, sweetheart." She switched over to English, hoping to throw Alexei off with the sudden change of language. "You've been real busy, I see."

"What happened to the men I left in there?" He demanded, completely ignoring Anne's own statement. From her lookout, she could see the man reach beside him and produce a handgun.

She snorted at that, running her tongue along her top row of teeth and drawing the silence out. "What do ya think, darling?" She shot a look behind her, gazing back at the carnage the contract killer had left in her wake, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and gore. "I, uh… _politely_ asked them to leave." She didn't even bother to drench her tone in sarcasm; the sardonicism spoke for itself.

Alexei went quiet for a moment, then said, "You killed them all?"

Anne smiled yet ignored the question, feeling like it was rhetorical. "Why don't ya come back inside, honey? We need to chat." If she had been speaking to anyone other than Alexei, she would have despaired of luring them back into the warehouse. However, her ex-handler was stupid and emotional enough, that if Anne played her part _just_ right, he would wander straight into her trap.

"Why should I do that?" Alexei challenged, a scoff in his tone. "I'm good right where I am."

"The Joker didn't only betray you, sweetheart. He betrayed me too." That much wasn't even a lie, and she had no trouble conveying the bitterness in her voice. "I was a fucking dumbass to think he could truly offer me protection from Mikhas and the Bratva." Anne came up with the story right off the bat, deciding she would use fear as her alibi. "I see that now. I was just afraid after you showed up in Gotham, I thought Clownface was my only hope at survival." She pretended to give a hollow chuckle. "I was so fucking dumb."

Anne watched intently from her vantage point as Alexei appeared to think her words over. He paused, then asked, "Are you certain Joker was going to betray me?"

Realizing he was on the cusp of assenting to her proposition, Anne spared no detail in her story. "Absolutely. When the clown's henchman brought me here, I smelled trouble right away, just like ya thought." At that, Alexei grunted in confusion, causing her to elaborate. "I heard everything you said on the phone, honey. Noise travels pretty good in here." With that out of the way, she continued, "Anyways, so I put a couple bullets in the asshole for his part in this shitshow, and then I checked his bag, which had a fucking detonator in it." Anne shook her head as she spoke, remembering the overwhelming sense of fear and anger she had felt when the betrayal first became known to her. "From there, it didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The Joker was gonna get us all in one spot and then fucking blow this place sky high." A bolt of lightning split the night as she related the story, almost as if Mother Nature herself was voicing her displeasure. "But don't worry, darling, I found the bomb and defused it. That's when you and your men showed up and I hid. And now…" She trailed off, gazing at Alexei from behind the grimy window panes. "Well, now here we fucking are."

"Черт возьми…" He cursed in quiet amazement. "How do I know you are telling me the truth, Roulette? How the fuck can I possibly trust you?"

_You can't_. However, outloud, she merely said, "Come inside, honey, and I'll show ya the bomb." To sweeten the plea, Anne added, "Why would I even fucking kill ya? What could I possibly gain? You're the only thing standing between me and Mikhas. Like you said, I'm not that fucking stupid." A grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "I'd have to be crazy to kill ya."

Showing a level of intelligence Anne wouldn't have thought possible from the man, Alexei responded, "Alright, Roulette, but come outside first with your hands in the air so that I can see you have no weapon."

Anne snorted derisively, but agreed all the same. "Fair enough. See ya in a sec, honey." Then she hung up, staring at Alexei for a moment longer before turning her back to the window.

With great difficulty, she managed to hop down from the shipping container, her wound making any movement painful. Walking towards the entrance, she paused, and, in a split-second decision, realized that if she really was about to kill Alexei, it would be better if her gunshot was somewhat bandaged. _It'll definitely make fighting a helluva lot easier._ Nodding to herself, she wandered over to where Thomas lay and cut a strip of his shirt away, the cotton material being much softer than the canvas of his jacket. Then, pulling her cargo pants down, she tied the fabric tightly around her thigh, knotting it in the front. It was extremely primitive, and Anne assumed the cotton would become bloodsoaked in a matter of minutes, however it was better than nothing and would provide some protection to her wound as she fought.

Refastening her pants, Anne pulled off her sweatshirt and holster, then threw it, pistol and all, to the side, followed swiftly by her commandeered switchblade. She would appear before Alexei weaponless if it made him feel better, but, in the long run, it would do little to save his life. She hadn't been exactly _lying_ to her ex-handler when Anne had explained why she would have to be crazy to kill him; if she had been serious about remaining in the Bratva, Alexei truly was the only one who could ensure her survival. However, the contract killer had absolutely no intentions of staying with the Russians, not after J had opened her eyes to what the mob truly was. But of course Alexei would assume that if Anne wasn't sticking with the clown, she would essentially be forced to slink back to the Bratva with her tail between her legs, begging for mercy. Needless to say, she had no such plans, and was resolved to kill Alexei no matter what.

It was with this thought in mind that Anne finally exited the warehouse, hands in the air so that Alexei could see she was holding no gun. She began shivering the second she stepped outside, the torrential downpour soaking her with sheets of freezing rain, so heavy she could barely keep her eyes open. It was through this onslaught that she saw Alexei slowly get out of his car, pistol pointed firmly at her. A wide smile split Anne's face as he stalked nearer.

"Hiya honey," she said, barely able to keep the taunting out of her voice. She ignored the gun's barrel pointed at her face and instead focused solely on Alexei, catching his gaze with her own and trying to discern what she found there.

"Roulette?" His voice was quiet, barely audible beneath the din of the storm, and the question mark at the end of her alias was only just perceptible, as though Alexei himself wasn't quite sure whether it was a query or not. "You look…" he trailed off, eyes scouring her face, "different."

Anne knew only too well what he meant. She may have been dressed in Roulette's outfit, with the black shirt, cargo pants, boots, and climbing gloves, but that was where the similarity stopped. The makeup had originally been Roulette's as well, however the combination of rain, blood, and sweat had altered it into something completely different. The red lipstick was not applied with a careful hand, but rather smeared across her mouth in a way reminiscent of the Joker's crimson smile. And her eye makeup, which consisted of eyeliner and mascara, had run so much it appeared as though she had black tears streaming down her face, mixing with the blood and gore and ultimately giving her a half-deranged look.

Anne had gone back and forth in her mind over whether or not she still thought of herself as Roulette. For a while, when she had believed the Joker was accepting her into his ranks, she had completely disavowed the persona, thinking of it as a vestige of the Bratva. And, in a way, it was. It was the Russian mafia which had cultivated her into the infamous contract killer known as Roulette, even if Anne herself was the one who had put in all the hard work to make the name so formidable. And yet… maybe she didn't need to _completely_ destroy Roulette just because she was breaking off ties with the Russians. Perhaps Anne could allow the persona to grow and change with her. She saw no reason why the alias shouldn't be as malleable as the girl who bore it, maybe the idea of Roulette could stay with her, maybe it wasn't _solely_ the property of the Bratva. If the Joker truly didn't want anything to do with her, as his bomb so heartily suggested, then Roulette was all Anne had left. She couldn't (and wouldn't) allow the Bratva, or J for that matter, to take it away from her.

"Show me the bomb." Alexei's demand yanked Anne back to reality, and she refocused on her ex-handler as he motioned with the gun for her to turn around and reenter the warehouse. "Go on, hurry the fuck up."

Complying without a word, she allowed her hands to slowly drop back down and returned inside, leaving the freezing rain. Alexei followed suit, pistol still trained on her head. She grinned while he couldn't see her face, barely able to contain her joy at having so easily lured the man back into her grasp. Still facing away from him, Anne led the way to the shipping container she had used to store the defused C-4, yanking open the heavy metal doors as Alexei looked on.

"Here ya go," she motioned towards the bomb. "I told ya the Joker fucking betrayed us."

Alexei, who had been looking warily at the deady body of one of his men (the only one he could see from his position in the warehouse), cast a brief glance in the direction of the C-4. "I didn't even know you could fucking defuse that shit," he muttered. "When the fuck did you learn that?"

Anne had no intention of telling her ex-handler that, in fact, she had merely called her friend who in turn had looked it up on Yahoo Answers, so instead she simply said with a grin, "Guess I got some tricks up my sleeve."

He gave a snort at that. "Shit, I guess so." Taking a step back so that he was out of Anne's immediate reach, he hesitantly lowered his gun, but did not holster it. "Why did you betray the Bratva, Roulette?" He waited a beat, then added, "And don't try to fucking deny it. Joker told me you joined him of your own free will. Although, from what I heard, he lied to you and said he was telling me that you were kidnapped, no?" Alexei grinned but didn't wait for an answer. "I'm sure you have figured out that's bullshit by now."

Anne inclined her head in agreement. "Yeah, I clocked that lie awhile ago." Her eyes traveled to her ex-handler's gun as she spoke, wondering how best to get it away from him. Alexei was no Thomas, this man was fully aware of what Anne was capable of and would no doubt be prepared for her to make some violent attempt at disarming him. He may have been an idiot, but the man had still grown up in the mob and had a mobster's instincts. And, worse yet, he knew Anne had those same instincts as well.

_No violence right off the bat, then._ She would not be able to merely flip forwards and throw Alexei to the ground, taking his weapon in the process, as she had done with J's henchman. She would need to find a way to win back some of his trust so that he relaxed and holstered his gun, and only then would she be able to get close enough to safely grab the pistol. Once acquired, however, Anne had no intention of using the handgun on him, oh no. A gunshot would be far too easy; she wanted to _hurt_ Alexei. _I'm gonna make this motherfucker suffer._

Trying desperately to contort her face into an apologetic look, Anne murmured, "Alexei… I'm sorry I betrayed the Bratva, I really fucking am." She took a hesitant step closer, to which Alexei backed up, still apparently too mistrustful of her intentions to allow her any nearer. "And I'm sorry I betrayed you," she added pitifully, pretending to give herself up to emotion and wishing she had the acting ability to conjure tears at will. As it was, she had to settle for merely scrunching her features into a sorrowful expression and hoping Alexei could be duped into believing she was truly crying. "I know there's no excuse for what I did, I was just so fucking scared that Mikhas was going to kill me, so I panicked. I thought joining the Joker was my only chance at survival." Anne took another step in Alexei's direction, and this time he held his ground. "Ya have to understand, the clown is a fucking genius, he saw how weak I had become and preyed on that. He manipulated me into believing I had no future with the Bratva. That I had no future with _you_." The emphasis on Anne's relationship with Alexei was meant to soften his feelings towards her, and the look on his face told the contract killer it was working.

"I was just terrified as shit, darling," she continued, moving still closer. "I thought ya had abandoned me. You were my only friend in the Bratva and I thought I had lost you. I was so scared." It spoke volumes that Alexei believed her sob-story, either willfully ignorant or oblivious to the fact that her eyes were markedly dry. "And I was angry; hurt that you had betrayed me." Anne gave a fake sniffle. "I just wanted to hurt ya back." She took another step in Alexei's direction, who was almost within her immediate reach again. "I'm so sorry, honey… Are ya gonna kill me now?" She eyed his gun, which was now hanging limply by his side, hoping the action read as nervous instead of calculated.

Alexei, who had remained gravely silent throughout her short speech, now gave a long exhale, as if pondering something over in his mind. Finally, after a pause, he shook his head and murmured, "No, I am not going to kill you, Roulette." He sent her a bitter grin. "You may be a stupid fucking bitch, but I suppose I can't hold that shit against you." Anne's blood boiled at the comment, but she held her cool for the time being. "After all, it is me who made you that way, no?" With that last, stinging retort he holstered his gun, sending a wave of relief flooding through Anne. Now was her chance.

Pretending to give a laugh of relief, she threw her arms around Alexei's neck, hugging him tightly and mentally preparing to grab his gun the second she pulled away. "Thanks, honey," she whispered in his ear, hoping the seething rage she felt towards him wasn't coming through in her tone.

As Alexei reluctantly hugged her back, Anne thought over exactly what she was about to do. If she killed her ex-handler, there would be no going back, no returning to the Bratva. Of course, as it were, there was very little chance that she would be allowed back in and not simply assassinated herself, even if she didn't murder Alexei. To think differently would be nothing more than vain conjecture. Hope - and a fool's hope at that. Still, to completely shut the door on the possibility of returning to the Bratva, or any international crime syndicate, was terrifying to contemplate. The mob had been the one constant in her life for as long as the contract killer could remember, even before she had been officially handed over to Falcone. Anne was, as a rule, impulsive; she frequently let emotion override logic, as the Joker had so kindly demonstrated (and, as she had discovered, the clown's immediate presence often made her still _more_ irrational). However, to make a decision of this magnitude was something even Anne paused at. Perhaps, if the Joker hadn't just tried to blow her up, she would've had no problem pulling the trigger, with the comforting knowledge that she could merely turn away from the Russians and into J's open arms, so to speak. But since Mr. J had indeed just tried to kill her, Anne knew that if she did this, if she killed Alexei and cut herself off from the Bratva once and for all, she really would be left virtually on her own. It was enough to make her hesitate.

She felt weak, to be double-thinking at the point of no return. She _thought_ she had made her decision many minutes ago, when the contract killer had called Alexei with the express purpose of luring the man back inside to kill him. But now that the power to truly change her life was finally within her grasp… she faltered. It was odd, whenever Anne felt as though she was spiraling out of control, or that someone was making choices for her without consent, a vicious kind of self-preservation and anger reared its ugly head and she had no trouble fighting tooth-and-nail for the power (at least theoretically) to make her own decisions. Yet now that she _was_ in control - that longed-for idea towards which she seemed to constantly strive - it was absolutely terrifying. Anne suddenly discovered that it was so much easier to fight for power than to actually have it. Fighting came naturally to her, she had been fighting her entire life, but this was the first time she had ever felt able to make her own choice. To _truly_ make her own choice, not just to believe she was. Maybe that was why joining the Bratva and leaving Gotham in the first place had come so naturally to her, because the contract killer had known, deep down, that she wasn't really deciding anything for herself, but rather following the path her father had so neatly laid down for her.

It was the reminder of Tom Lynn, that hated spectre which seemed to haunt her every move, that finally steeled Anne to choose - and she chose to kill Alexei. Perhaps it was her emotional side speaking yet again, perhaps she really was making the foolish, irrational decision, but she found she didn't care. She had chosen, and that was the most important part.

Blinking, and pretending that a few seconds hadn't just felt like a lifetime, Anne pulled back from Alexei and, as her hand was sliding down his chest, grabbed the holstered gun. Without giving the man time to react, she kicked out, her foot catching him in the ribcage and sending him stumbling backwards. As Alexei looked up, features ridden with shock and rage, the realization of what she had done fully descended on Anne. She began to laugh.

"You fucking cunt!" Her ex-handler roared through heavy breaths, regaining his balance and staring uneasily at the gun now in her hands. "I knew I shouldn't have fucking trusted you, you fucking ungrateful bitch!" Anne didn't acknowledge any of the insults, but continued to almost scream in mirth, finding the entire situation (and Alexei's vivid reaction) rather hilarious. "God, fuck you, Roulette, _fuck you_. Are you really going to shoot me? _Me_? You would be fucking dead if it wasn't for me! You would be _nothing_ if it wasn't for me! How big of an ungrateful, selfish cunt do you have to be to fucking shoot me? You-"

"Oh, honey," Anne finally cut off his blustering indignation, managing to stifle her laughs just long enough that she could send him a cold, little grin, ejecting the gun's magazine as she did so. "You _wish_ I was gonna shoot ya."

" _What_?" Alexei's eyes narrowed in further anger (with just a hint of confusion) as the contract killer pocketed the magazine, emptied the chamber, and then chucked the gun as far as she could into the interior of the warehouse, out of sight and certainly out of range. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm gonna kill ya," she confirmed. "But not with a gun." She began walking towards him. "That would be too fucking nice." Now that Anne was resolved once more to kill Alexei, she allowed all the pent up rage and resentment which had collected over the years to spill over. Giving a grunt of anger, she stepped forwards and kicked him in the face with as much force as she could muster, causing her gunshot wound to sting in protest.

There was a sickening crunch as Alexei went flying to the side, blood spurting from his clearly-broken nose. He regained his feet swiftly, however, survival instincts kicking in once he realized Anne was out for revenge.

"Why are you fucking doing this?" Her ex-handler spat from behind the hand clutching his nose. "I fucking helped you!" As he yelled, he launched a punch at the contract killer, who easily dodged the clumsy blow, her knee connecting with his groin in retaliation.

" _Helped me_?" Anne snarled, side-stepping a kick from Alexei and planting one of her own in his chest, causing him to collapse onto the ground. "Is that whatcha think ya did?" In her anger she rushed forward and kicked the man as hard as she could in the stomach, watching as he curled in pain around her booted foot. "You _fucked_ me, and when ya weren't busy doing that, you beat the shit outta me. And the only reason ya felt safe laying hands on someone like me is because you knew - you fucking pussy - you _knew…_ if I ever lost your favor I'd be fucking toast 'cause of your _coziness_ with the bosses." There was obvious venom in Anne's voice as she retreated slightly, allowing Alexei to stagger back to his feet, clutching his stomach in agony while hatred, pure and bright, blazed in his eyes.

To his credit, her ex-handler didn't seem about to give up and just allow her to kill him, despite the fact that it was appearing more and more inevitable that that was exactly what was about to happen. Instead, Alexei, spitting a glob of blood to the side, ran at Anne once more, aiming a punch at her chest. His injuries, however, made his already sloppy fighting style even more predictable, and she ducked the blow while landing one of her own. "And I'm supposed to be fucking grateful that you… that you _what_? Hired some men to train me? Taught me a couple languages? Treated me like an investment? _What_?" She growled, throwing Alexei onto the concrete floor. "What am I supposed to be so fucking grateful for?"

Clearly winded from the sudden fall, her ex-handler took his time in responding, trying furtively to shield his face while he hacked up a lung. Anne, however, genuinely wanted to hear his reasoning and refrained from attacking him in the meantime. "We-" Another cough. "We fucking created you," Alexei finally managed to gag out. "We created Roulette. You owe everything to us."

At his words, Anne saw red. In a flurry of renewed anger, she hopped onto the now-broken man and pummeled his face and chest with her fists, Alexei's feeble attempts to block the blows being easily countered by her. "You didn't create _shit_!" She roared, pausing in her punches for a moment and gazing down at the bloodied and bruised remnants of the man's face. Seeing the destruction, her anger abated slightly, and she took a steadying breath, which came out sounding more like a sob. "Ya didn't create shit," Anne reiterated, still crouching over Alexei. "You fucking _destroyed_ me." Her wounded leg felt as though it was on fire - courtesy of the strenuous physical activity she had just undertaken - however she ignored it for the nonce, more focused on the shattered remains of Alexei, who she thought might be in the midst of dying.

"You," she continued, ignoring the weakening breaths of her ex-handler, "Mikhas, my father, all of you fuckers. You all destroyed me." She could feel the years of repressed emotion bubbling to the surface as she spoke, and Anne gave a loud sniff, not totally sure if the wetness on her cheeks was blood or tears. Perhaps it was both. "I've spent my entire fucking life being broken down for the advantage of you - _fucking - pussies_!" She punctuated the last two words with a punch each, spitting on Alexei's nearly unrecognizable face as she did so. "And it was out of all those fucking pieces of what was once me that _I_ created Roulette. Not you, or anyone else in the fucking Bratva, but _me_." There could be no denying that she was crying now, whether out of anger or sadness or some combination of both she did not know. " _Me_ ," Anne repeated, the word sounding almost pitifully ridden with emotion, "... _me_." She paused then, sitting back and surveying Alexei's body as she attempted to regain control over herself, furious at the tears. She was almost sure the man was dying, if not already dead. In the impetus of her rage, Anne had not quite realized just how hard (nor how many times) she was hitting her ex-handler, who had already been badly weakened by her ferocious kicks and various other blows. Apparently, the blood loss and blunt force trauma had been too much, even for someone as strong as Alexei. _He's gone, he's really fucking gone._

The realization hit Anne with a wave of catharsis. All the rage she felt towards the Bratva, her father, and the mob in general had been momentarily taken out on Alexei. But as good as the killing had felt in the moment, as the contract killer sat back, leg and knuckles aching, gazing at the mutilated corpse of the man who had never stood a chance, a certain hollowness took root within her. It was the sort of hollowness she felt on the come-down of a high; the sudden recognition that no matter how many lines she snorted or shots she took or cigarettes she smoked, it would never be enough to abate the longing for more. Not even that momentary feeling of control she had glimpsed, so terrifying in it's own way, had been the kind of fulfillment Anne was hoping for. The emptiness was always there, lurking right around the corner.

It was in light of this that the tears began to slowly work their way back into her eyes, clouding her sight and causing the contract killer to angrily rub them away. Swallowing, she staggered to her feet, hissing in pain as her gunshot wound immediately began to sting. She felt blood, hot and sticky, running down her thigh and Anne surmised the makeshift bandage had not lasted very long. Cursing inwardly, she hobbled over to where she had thrown her holster and newly acquired gun. It suddenly hit her that she would most likely never be seeing her favorite Glock again, given that the Joker had so rudely taken it from her hours before. This realization made her punch the closest shipping container in frustration, although she immediately regretted the decision.

Her hand, already sore, exploded in agony and Anne herself, usually so tolerant of pain, actually cried out. _God fucking dammit._ Clenching her jaw, she gingerly pulled her glove off and examined the hand in question for damage. It didn't feel like it was broken, however the knuckles were nearly black with bruises (courtesy of her beating Alexei to a bloody pulp with bare fists) and she had little doubt they would soon begin to swell. Removing her other glove revealed the same situation. Defeated, Anne slowly picked up her holster from the ground and put it back on, yanking the pistol out in the process.

The tears had slowed somewhat by now, but there were still a couple rolling down her cheeks, cutting a path through the blood and grime which had accumulated on her face throughout the night. Anne had very little idea why she was crying, and in truth, there was no single reason behind the abrupt showing of emotion. Everything had suddenly just seemed too much. There was the persistent hollowness within her, more virulent than ever in light of her current hopelessness; the deep-seated hurt and anger she felt towards the Joker's betrayal and the knowledge that she was powerless to do anything about it; the agonizing confusion over her identity and the internal debate she was waging as to whether or not she even _wanted_ to cast off the mantle of Roulette; the realization that actually having control was more frightening than satisfying; and, last but certainly not least, the snaking desire she still felt for J alongside her stubborn belief that he was the _more_ she had been looking for, despite the fact that he had just tried to blow her up.

All of these overpowering feelings combined into an emotional broil within Anne, who was left exhausted and almost light-headed as a result. She felt indescribably lost, unsure of what to do next. She had just closed the door forever on the mob, Russian or otherwise, and the Joker had also symbolically cut her off with his bomb attempt. She had nowhere to go, certainly nowhere that was safe. Not even Kat's apartment could provide her with a refuge now that the Batman knew where it was and would undoubtedly be keeping tabs on it in case Anne did decide to show back up. Nor could she go back to the house where the Joker and his henchmen had taken up residence; Mr. J would see her coming from a mile away (thanks to the tracker in her neck) and probably be waiting to kill her the second she showed up on the doorstep. She had no more moves left to make.

It was with this thought in mind that Anne's eyes began to linger on the gun in her hand. _Well, maybe there is one last move…_ Slowly, she began to lift the pistol upwards, then, "Rough night?" It was the Joker.

Anne gave a long exhale and closed her eyes, trying to quell the sudden surge of anger and sadness she experienced upon hearing that man's voice again. Then, setting her jaw, she spun around, aiming her gun at J as he stopped in his tracks with a malicious grin. " _You_!" She snarled, curling her smudged red lips in disgust. "You fucking piece of shit!" At her words, the Joker widened his eyes, pretending to be shocked at the blatant rage she was exhibiting. He turned to look behind him, at the front door he had just entered from so silently, as if searching for the person Anne was talking to. Because of course it couldn't be _him_. That would be ridiculous, why would she be mad at him? "Ya tried to fucking blow me up!" She added, in no mood for his jokes.

Even from a distance, Anne could see the gleeful amusement in J's features as he took in her indignation, hurt, and fury; there was none of the anger simmering beneath the surface (at least not directed at her) that she had seen when they had last spoken. It was clear the delight he felt in having so greatly upset her washed away his own rage. And perhaps there was some small part of him, some tiny little remnant of humanity within his blackened heart, that was secretly happy to find her alive, if not exactly well. _Yeah right, honey,_ Anne admonished herself inwardly. _That's wishful thinking if I've ever fucking seen it._

"Well," J began with sardonic delicacy, black gaze still glimmering with laughter, "you, uh, _did_ break into Arkham with the ex _press_ intent to kill me. So, ah… call it even, hmm?" He cocked his head at her, watching with sadistic pleasure as tears ran down Anne's cheeks.

"No!" She snapped back, taking a step closer while keeping her gun leveled squarely at his chest. "We're not fucking even, J! Ya didn't just try to kill me, you also fucking betrayed me! And with _Alexei_ of all fucking people!"

At that, the Joker's eyes roamed over to where her ex-handler's bloody body lay, making a half-amused, half-delighted face. "I guess there was a rough patch in the relation _ship_." His tone was innocuous, but Anne knew he was purposely trying to aggravate her further by ignoring her accusations of betrayal.

Gritting her teeth she took yet another step nearer and spat, "Give me one fucking reason, J. Just _one_ fucking reason and I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll _what_ , dollface?" He shot back, tongue flicking out to lick irritably at his mouth. "Kill me?" His tone was high-pitched and taunting as he began striding towards her, causing Anne's lips to part in apprehension. She wouldn't pull the trigger and they both knew it. In fact, she _couldn't_ pull it. "Like I said before, uh, empty threats?" The Joker reached her and yanked the gun from her hands, tossing it aside with disdain. "They don't suit you." He continued stalking forwards, forcing Anne to back up until she collided with the side of a shipping container and could go no further. "Ya see," J began, leaning a hand next to her head and purposely crowding into the contract killer's space, "I needed _Roulette_ to die. Because in spite of alllll your little _promises_ that you had, ah, left the Bratva behind? I wasn't so sure. How could I be? Hmm?" He raised his blackened brows at her, as if expecting Anne to answer, despite the fact that his question had been rhetorical. "With that Russian boyfriend of yours just… _running_ around?" J waved a hand through the air, as if simulating Alexei vexingly on the loose, then gave a sharp shake of the head. "No, I needed to be certain. _So_ , I set up a situation in which you would be _forced_ to confront your past. I mean, c'mon doll, your driver's name was, uh, _Thomas_." He gave her a 'did-you-really-not-see-it' face, adjusting his purple overcoat as he did so. "Nothing I could say was ever gonna _convince_ you to let Roulette go. I just needed to give ya a little, uh… _push_." The Joker sent her his most charming grin at that, barely able to conceal it's mocking quality and yet clearly hoping she would fall for it.

Anne, however, was far from convinced. " _Bullshit_ ," she seethed, tears mostly abated as she glared up at the Joker's face. "Ya just wanted to fuck over the Bratva for trying to whack you. All the other shit was a coincidence."

J appeared to nearly roll his eyes at her words, scrunching his mouth into a disapproving look. "I could get rid of the Russians in Gotham any old day," he said with a dismissive shrug. "And as for, uh, killing _you_? I could do _that_ any old day too." He leaned in closer, grabbing Anne's jaw with an iron grip and forcing her to look at him. "Why go to all this trouble? Huh?" J indicated the general carnage around them with an airy shake of the hand. "I needed Roulette _dead_ , dollface… not you." He gave her a little, mocking nod as Anne met his gaze, as if encouraging her to believe him. She didn't, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

She _did_ smile, however, wanting J to lower his guard so that she could make a mad dash to the side, out of the clown's immediate range. Anne tried not to think about how big of a disadvantage she would be at if a fight with the Joker ensued. Not only did she have a fresh gunshot wound, she was also simply fucking tired, exhausted and aching from having fought for almost a couple hours straight.

As she grinned, she leaned in closer, so that their faces were inches apart, and Anne hoped the Joker couldn't see the fury burning deep within her. If he did, he didn't mention it, or indeed do anything at all. Instead, he merely stared at her with the signature slackness of his features, appearing completely apathetic to her proximity. But Anne wasn't fooled, she could see the undecipherable look in his pinprick pupils, so vivid whenever she got too close. The contract killer herself couldn't even hide the way her heart rate elevated when J came near, and it was truly a mark of how angry she was that Anne didn't crumble beneath his intoxicating aura right there and forgive him for everything. But she didn't; she _wouldn't_. Instead, when she had edged sufficiently close, she widened her grin and whispered, "Fuck you, _Mr. J_."

Then, in the blink of an eye, she was ducking underneath the Joker's arm, punching him in the gut, and lunging towards the gun he had thrown to the side. With a grunt of surprise and perhaps pain, J stumbled backwards, yet managed to grab Anne by the arm all the same, throwing her forcefully back against the shipping container before she could reach the pistol. "Oh… you always _have_ been fun, doll." The Joker's voice had dropped an octave, and his words sounded more like a snarl than a playful tease as his tongue swiped across his entire crimson smile. Anne swore she heard anger beneath the sentence as well, blossoming up in response to her punch, alongside an almost masochistic joy.

It was enough to make her dive for the gun again, only to be shoved back once more by J, who then slapped her for the continued insolence. The blow hurt (although, thankfully, it had not been on the cheek already bruised from a backhand by the same clown), and Anne's head snapped to the side, blood beginning to well at the corner of her lips. Infuriated, she whipped back around to attack the Joker in retribution, only to find that he was well ahead of her, grabbing the back of her head and forcing her chin upwards, fingers ensnaring painfully in her hair so that she was forced to clench her jaw or risk gasping in pain. Although, it was the touch of cool metal at her throat that brought on the real panic, realizing the Joker had procured one of his omnipresent knives.

Her first instinct was to fight, as Anne had done for so much of her life, yet the longer she thought about it, the more she realized she didn't care whether she lived or died. She hadn't for a long time. So why not let the Joker kill her? The contract killer had learned not too long ago how terrifying it was to truly be in control; the fighting wasn't worth it. Anne was _exhausted_ , and it was about time she realized she was never going to be able to best the Joker in anything, no matter how hard she tried. No matter how many C-4 bombs she successfully defused. _So let him fucking kill me, then._ Swallowing, she raised her hands up to show her submission, locking eyes with the black gaze of the Joker. "You win, honey," she murmured. "Kill me. It's why ya came here, isn't it? Just do it. I've been dead for a long fucking time anyway." She paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "And if you really don't want me to join ya, then there's nothing even left to live for."

At her words, the Joker became still, and she could see him running his tongue along the inside of his scars as he thought, surveying her with a cool detachment. Beneath that, however, Anne saw a familiar look flare into his eyes; that nearly imperceptible glint he sometimes got around the contract killer which she had never quite been able to quantify. She had no idea if that boded well for her or not.

The next second she got her answer. In a move which certainly shocked Anne and might've even surprised the Joker a little himself, J yanked her to him and shoved his mouth against hers in a way which would've been terrifyingly aggressive for anyone besides Anne. She had definitely not seen the kiss coming, however, as she had still been fairly certain that the Joker was going to outwardly deny he had any attraction to her whatsoever until the end of time, in order to preserve his perfect upper hand. Either she had been wrong about his reasoning for holding off, _or_ something had changed his mind. Something had made the Joker decide that giving into this particular temptation, while perhaps not his first choice, wasn't going to markedly upset the power dynamic. He had weighed the pros and cons and decided one outweighed the other, even if he wasn't particularly happy about it, as the clear anger beneath his kiss demonstrated.

Anne, for her part, was still too shocked (and a little bit relieved) to process what was going on right away. It took her longer than she would have liked to admit to remember her indignation about the forceful way the Joker had gone about the kiss. Still, she eventually came to and, with a muffled noise, pulled back, shoving J as hard as she could. The man stumbled slightly, and Anne backed up a step herself, swallowing and staring wide-eyed at the Joker, who gave her a rather incredulous look that roughly translated into: 'Really?' It was clear he wasn't buying her contrived indignation for a moment, more than aware that she shared in this mutual desire.

At the look, Anne's near-religious adoration for the Joker took over and she forgot to be angry, so strong was her obsession - or addiction - with finding the _more_. All was forgotten and miraculously forgiven at the prospect of finally being able to be with J, the one thing she had wanted above all others since the day she had first met him (and perhaps even before that). With a laugh, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him the way a drowning man clings to a life saver. The Joker, for his part, gave a low, almost predatory chuckle as he took up the kiss once more, grabbing her thighs so carelessly that his knife nicked her in the process.

Not only had Anne forgotten all the reasons she was mad at J, but she also somehow managed to forget about her gunshot wound, still bleeding rather profusely, until the Joker's hand passed over it and she gave a gasp of pain. This, far from stopping him, only seemed to egg the man onwards, and he was soon slamming Anne back against the shipping container (yet again) with such force she could feel her entire back bruising on impact. Although _this_ time she did not cry out, but merely opened her mouth to the Joker's increasingly aggressive kisses. The taste of him on her tongue was objectively repulsive (there was a reason his teeth were bright yellow), but the contract killer found that she did not care, much more concerned with his hands which had begun to wander the second he realized she did not need his help in keeping herself held up. Nor did Anne mind that his pungent odor was filling her nose with the scent of sweat and gasoline, given that she had become somewhat used to the smell (not to mention she also smelled particularly ripe).

After a moment, the Joker broke away from her mouth and dipped down to her neck, his lips working along the skin there until he had almost reached the collar of her shirt. Anne then expected him to stop and resume kissing _her_ lips, but instead she felt his teeth go into her, so forcefully that the contract killer grabbed a fistful of his hair in retribution, pulling tight in an effort to get him to let go. This clearly only encouraged him and the next second she felt him bear down even harder, biting until he drew blood. Anne immediately hissed in pain and dug her nails into the back of his own neck, almost involuntarily. Apparently satisfied with her response, J finally drew back, giving a high-pitched laugh that made him sound _far_ too pleased with himself. _God, Kat's gonna have a field day when she hears about this,_ Anne thought, while she still retained the ability to form coherent sentences in her mind.

Her attention was drawn back to the Joker, however, as he fixed her with one of his unwavering stares, licking his lips and saying, "You, uh, _belong_ to me." As he spoke, his tone terrifyingly casual, J grabbed the back of her thighs once more and hoisted Anne up further, settling himself against her. "Understand?" He raised his blackened brows as he asked, staring with mock curiosity at Anne while he waited for her reply. As if they both didn't already know the answer.

Still, rather than respond _right_ away and lose all sense of dignity (not that she really had any at this point), Anne tightened her grip around him and gazed down at his face in thought, which was so close she could see practically every pore and bead of sweat. It was then that she noticed the look in J's dead eyes had changed, but somehow not for the better. That indecipherable glint had been replaced with a much, much uglier glimmer: a potent mixture of anger, lust, and sadistic joy, without even the slightest trace of affection or sentiment. Anne wondered why the Joker had chosen now, right after making an attempt on her life, to finally give into his desires. Perhaps her complete submission had been what J was waiting for; the reason he had held off for so long. Maybe he hadn't been sure whether the contract killer was truly his or not. Now, however, there could be no doubt. Alexei was dead by her own hand, the Bratva was an option gone to her forever, and she loathed her father with every fiber of her being. Who was left to possess her but him? Based on her assumption, Anne figured the Joker had held off fucking for so long because of the power it would give her, slight though it may be. And J, ever the genius, was smart enough to realize that power could morph into something highly dangerous should the contract killer ever become disenchanted with what he stood for. For the entirely condescending attitude J took when it came to Anne, he nevertheless understood that giving someone like her anything resembling an upper hand could very well be fatal. She was like a dog which had to be kept muzzled, or risk it turning around to bite him. But now, with her newly destitute position, that risk had mostly been mitigated. Anne was alone - utterly alone - except for him.

Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah," her tone was breathy, "I got it, Mr. J. I'm yours." At that, the Joker's features split into a wide, malevolent smile and Anne suddenly got the impression she was staring into the face of pure evil. There was barely any time to register this, however, before J was pouncing once more, kissing her with an added fervor while he tugged impatiently at the buttons of her cargo pants. Anne returned the ferocity gladly, heart beating wildly as she realized what she had just done _and_ what she was about to do. If the analogy of selling her soul to the Devil hadn't held up before, there was certainly no denying the parallels now. The Joker would allow Anne to give herself to him, body and soul, on the condition that once given, neither could be taken back. She realized this. The contract killer understood that if J ever got the sense she was no longer completely his, he would kill her in the blink of an eye, no questions asked. This was a gamble for him, and Anne had to play her part _exactly_ right if she was going to convince the Joker that it (that _she_ ) was a risk worth taking. _I am J, I swear I am._ For the second time that night, Anne found herself at the point of no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: They finally fucked! Lmao this one took absolutely forever to write, it ended up being +19k words and like almost 40 pages on the doc, which is a little ridiculous if I'm being honest. It easily could've been split into two chapters but when I started writing this one I had a clear idea of where I wanted it to begin and where I wanted it to end and all the stuff in the middle kinda just got carried away, courtesy of Anne herself. I was almost certainly put on a watchlist for all the shit about C-4 I had to look up for this chapter lol, but shoutout to the website Quora for explaining how C-4 bombs work (but still, I'm sure I missed something, I can't say I've had much firsthand experience with bombs). Oh, also, don't believe a WORD the Joker says, he's a manipulative little hoe who was absolutely hoping to blow Anne up at first, not that he'd ever admit it. Thanks again for everyone who has been reading and I apologize for being incredibly slow!
> 
> Up Next: The earcom Anne planted on Gordon all those weeks ago may just come back to bite her (or perhaps Pari) in the butt.


	12. Fallout

**Fallout**

" _Blood sticks, sweat drips,_

_Break the lock if it don't fit._

_A kick in the teeth is good for some,_

_A kiss with a fist is better than none."_

- **Kiss With a Fist** , Florence + the Machine

* * *

"There you are." Gordon's gaze found Bruce from across the darkened roof of the MCU as he reached to turn off the floodlight. "Have you heard?"

Bruce stepped nearer, so that the light of the city skyscrapers illuminated him against the backdrop of the night, which had a habit of swallowing him up so effectively. "About the seven bodies found in a Narrows' warehouse?" He lowered his voice to the guttural rasp of the Batman. When Gordon gave a single, grave nod in reply, he continued. "I heard. Do you think the Joker is behind it?"

The police commissioner sighed, as if remembering the gruesome scene he had found when first discovering the bodies. "Maybe. Not exactly his usual M.O. There were no joker cards, no painted faces, nothing whatsoever to link him to the murders." He furrowed his brow. "Something of this scale? He'd want to make a statement with it, wouldn't you think?"

Bruce wasn't so sure. There could be no doubting that the Joker had a penchant for drama which tended to express itself in his worst deeds, yet he was _also_ capable of senseless slaughter simply for practicality's sake, which this particular crime looked to be. "I don't know. This could've just been his spring cleaning, ridding himself of a couple small-time competitors to clear the way for something bigger." Bruce paused, then added in a more serious tone, "You know Harvey Dent Day is coming up. The Joker will want to do something public, something _big_. I'm sure of it." _He wants Gotham to know what became of their white knight._

A look of worry flashed across Gordon's face. "I tried to get the mayor to cancel in light of the Joker's escape, but he's insistent on going through with the celebrations. He said we can't be seen to bend to the clown's will."

Bruce gritted his teeth at that. The obstinacy of the mayor bore all the marks of someone who didn't truly understand the human life at stake, someone who was only worried about getting reelected. "How many people died last time for the same reason? And, in the end, we _still_ played right into his hands. We lost Dent." _I lost Dent._ "We can't let our pride get in the way of catching the Joker. Not this time."

Gordon gave another sigh, clearly seeing Bruce's irritation. "I agree with you. But it's not my call." He sounded genuinely regretful. "Besides, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about." Intrigued, Bruce watched as the man produced a small evidence bag from his coat pocket, handing it over.

"What is this?" He asked Gordon, narrowing his eyes as he made out the form of a small, black earpiece within the clear plastic.

"I found it planted on me the day of the Bratva drug bust," the police commissioner explained. "The lab told me it's some sort of telecommunications device with a GPS tracker implanted in it. Pretty fancy stuff."

Bruce gave a grunt of agreement, turning the evidence bag over in his hand. "Who planted it on you?" Even as the words left his mouth, however, he had a sneaking suspicion as to who was responsible. _Her._ She had been at the drug bust, the police commissioner had confirmed as much to him, detailing the events that transpired between the mystery woman and the GCPD as she had attempted to sneak out the back. Of course, she had unfortunately gotten away, but even just linking her to a Bratva drug bust was a usable lead.

"No idea." Gordon shrugged, but a knowing gleam in his eyes told Bruce that he did, in fact, have an idea. His next sentence proved as much. "But if I had to guess? I would say it was this woman we're after. She could have planted it on me after knocking me out."

"Makes sense," he agreed. "Maybe she was hoping you would lead the Joker right to your family. He did threaten your wife, after all." The wind whistled across the rooftop as he spoke, stirring the hefty fabric of Bruce's cape.

At the reminder of the Joker's threat, a mix of fury and panic bloomed into Gordon's gaze, and he cast a distracted look to the side. "I know." There was an audible sniff. "But she's safe for now; we all are. We moved houses and have a couple officers on duty at all times. Plus, I found the tracker in my pocket right when I woke up, so it never made it back to our house."

Bruce frowned in thought as he nodded. "Good."

"There's more," the police commissioner added, a small grin tugging at his features. "Forensics found four sets of prints on it." _That_ caught Bruce's attention and his head snapped upright in surprise. "Mine, the Joker's, and two unidentified."

"The Joker's?" It was out of character for the clown to be so careless as to leave fingerprints on anything in police hands, especially since his incarceration; his prints were now officially in the GCPD's databases. It gave him pause. Perhaps the woman hadn't planted the tracker on the Joker's instructions after all. _Could she have been acting on her own?_ If so, it spoke volumns as to her critical thinking capabilities - it had been a sloppy move.

"I know, it seemed odd to me too," Gordon intoned. "There were no matches for the other two in our systems, but I figured you might be able to find something we couldn't." He paused, the sound of the city punctuating his words. "I bet one of them belongs to the woman."

That had been Bruce's first instinct as well, and he pocketed the evidence bag with a noise of agreement. "Anything else I should look into?"

"Maybe." At this, Gordon took a step closer, as if aware of the sensitive nature of the next bit of information. "When forensics disassembled the unit, they found that all of the parts could be traced back to Khadem Tech, a Gotham-based business conglomerate. The CEO's called Ramin Khadem, he lives right in the heart of the Diamond District."

Bruce had of course heard of both the business and the man before. Mr. Khadem was a wealthy tech tycoon who had his fingers in every major technological company in the country, including several of Wayne Enterprises's own endeavors. In fact, Bruce was pretty sure he rented out some of his buildings to Khadem Tech. However, the fact that this earpiece had been constructed using their parts was surprising. As far as he knew, neither the company nor the owner had links to the mob or any other criminal organization. "Has Khadem Tech reported any break-ins or robberies at their storage facilities recently?" He queried, assuming the parts must've been stolen if not legally purchased.

Gordon made a noise which could've resembled a laugh. "That was my first thought too, but I checked the records and there have been no reported robberies at a Khadem facility in our jurisdiction for at least ten years." He adjusted his glasses while adding, "And doing a sweep of the public records for Gotham as a whole shows no reported incidents either."

Bruce frowned in confusion, unsure of what to make of that revelation. "So the parts were legally bought? And either the buyer created the earpiece themselves, or gave the parts to someone who did."

The police commissioner's head shook slightly at that, as if hesitant to correct Bruce, but feeling he had no other choice. "It's possible, but this kind of advanced technology isn't available for public consumption. Khadem Tech only contracts with other private businesses and occasionally the feds. Could be an employee at one of those other companies swiped the tech, in which case it wouldn't be on record anywhere. We'd have no way of knowing."

He cursed inwardly at that, desperately trying to find any concrete lead to follow up on. "What about Ramin Khadem? Does he have any mob affiliations?" Bruce was fairly certain he didn't, but it was always possible the GCPD had picked up on something he himself had overlooked.

He was sorely disappointed in this hope, however. "No," Gordon's mouth twisted into a half-apologetic look, "nothing. He's squeaky clean. The only even remotely suspicious thing about the man is his daughter. But she hasn't been seen in about five years, and it's doubtful he still has ties with her." Gordon stopped, considered his words, then amended, "Assuming she's alive, that is."

Bruce found this bit of information _far_ more fascinating that Gordon appeared to, given the nonchalant, almost dismissive manner in which he had stated it. "Tell me about her," he demanded, trying to keep the impatience from his tone. "Does she have a record?"

"As in a rap sheet?" Bruce nodded. "No, far from it, actually." From within the confines of his coat, Gordon produced several manila envelopes which he had undoubtedly brought with him solely for Bruce's benefit. He thumbed through them until he found the one he wanted and yanked it out, keeping it clutched tightly in his hand to prevent the papers blowing away in the night gale. "Here, this is what we have on Ramin Khadem. His daughter's information should be included in there too." Bruce took the outstretched file swiftly, opening it and perusing the contents with a methodical eye.

"Pari Khadem," he muttered, more to himself than Gordon.

The man responded, however, in his characteristically even and thoughtful tone. "That sounds right. She was some sort of child prodigy from what I remember." Bruce made a noncommittal noise, scouring the small section within Ramin Khadem's file that was devoted to his daughter. "Apparently the girl was so impressive the CIA sent a representative to scout her out as a potential asset while she was still in high school."

He looked up from the paper at that, thoughts flying through his brain. "All of this potential and five years ago she just drops off the face of the earth?" He checked the file once more. "At 18?" That would put her at about 23 right now, around the age he had surmised the mystery woman to be. In fact, everything was lining up a little too conveniently for Bruce's taste. He would have to pay the Khadem residence a visit. Something was off, he could sense it.

"It would seem so." Gordon sent him a pondering look. "Maybe the CIA _did_ recruit her after all, right out of school. Intelligence operatives have been known to disappear from the record for security purposes." He seemed to sense Bruce's misgivings and cocked an eyebrow. "You don't believe this sort of prodigal, trust fund kid is our mystery woman?"

Bruce resented the slight disdain with which the man talked about 'trust fund' kids - for obvious reasons - but held his tongue. Instead, he merely glanced at the only picture of Pari included within the file, which, while being some seven years old, immediately proved she wasn't the mystery woman. Not only were the hair and eye color wrong, but the features in general did not represent the face Bruce had glimpsed at the parking garage and then again outside Katarina's apartment. "No," he finally replied after a long stretch of brooding silence. "But I think she could be a lead."

Gordon narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Speaking of leads, what about Katarina Nord?" The question was one Bruce had been expecting, but wasn't looking forward to answering. Not in light of recent events. "Have you been keeping an eye on her?"

Of course Bruce had been watching over Nord, not only because of her potential as a lead to the mystery woman, but also because he was genuinely concerned for her safety. Despite what the foolhardy girl seemed to think, he didn't believe for a second that the woman gave a damn whether Katarina lived or died. And while perhaps she wouldn't kill the girl at her own instigation, if the Joker demanded it, then Bruce was certain Nord would be dead in the blink of an eye. Or, more probably, the Joker would try to kill Katarina himself, in a singularly gruesome fashion. All of these convictions had forced Bruce into keeping a close eye on the girl, who was now apparently pregnant. However, the night after the Narrows' murders, he had stopped by her apartment to check in per usual, only to find Nord gone. After briefly investigating, it had become clear the girl had packed up and left; there were no signs of a struggle or bloodshed, and her closet had been wide open, clearly rummaged through. Yet even with the qualifier that Nord had not been killed under his nose, she had still effectively slipped from Bruce's grasp in a highly embarrassing way.

"She's gone," he grunted out, tone noticeably gruff. "Nord must've left her apartment the day those seven men were killed in the Narrows."

Gordon swore under his breath. "Do you think she was tipped off?"

That didn't seem likely to Bruce, who found it hard to believe that someone as trained as the woman who had managed to survive coming face-to-face with the Joker repeatedly would divulge any such plans to Nord. "No. Probably just a coincidence. Still, I'll try to find her again." He doubted it would be too hard, unless (God forbid) she had taken up residence with the mystery woman, in which case Bruce didn't like his chances. Or Katarina's.

Inhaling slowly, Gordon nodded, relief appearing to flood over him at Bruce's promise. "Oh, before I forget." The police commissioner lifted up the rest of the manila envelopes, which constituted a generous stack of papers. Casting a wary glance at the rooftop's door, he handed the entire collection over to Bruce. "This is all I could pull on the Narrows' murders. It's… a lot." Gordon cleared his throat, emotion edging the words. "I haven't seen this sort of thing since the days before the Dent Act."

Bruce set his mouth in grim apprehension, opening the first folder and getting greeted with the sight of evidence photographs. As Gordon had warned him, it was certainly a lot.

He had seen more than his fair share of homicides before, with the bitter memory of his parents' own murder serving as a grisly jumping off point for a lifetime of crime scenes. Still, some stood out as being particularly worse than others. This was one of those. The amount of blood and gore shown splattered around the warehouse was at the level only seen in the most wanton acts of violence. It evoked a kind of innate revulsion in Bruce which he was usually so adept at mastering, or at the very least channeling into a productive energy. It was a repulsion few besides the Joker were able to incur in him. _Gotham has some dark days ahead of it._

Setting his emotions aside, Bruce clenched his jaw and eyed the photographs from a purely logical standpoint, searching for any clues that would either confirm or deny his suspicions that the clown was responsible for the murders. Almost immediately, he got the sense that the Joker had not been the one to kill these men, at least not directly. "This isn't anything we've seen from the Joker before," he relayed. "It looks like these men were picked off, one by one." The way the bodies were spread out within the warehouse pointed to as much, as did the diverse manners of their deaths.

"Well, if the Joker is behind the murders, he probably didn't kill them himself," Gordon speculated. "One man isn't capable of that. Not even him."

Bruce didn't quite agree. Until the time of death could be ascertained to the exact minute, there could be no telling how much time passed between each man's demise. A careful, concerted effort could very well have been made to ensure these men were kept apart and dispatched more-or-less silently, which would easily allow for a single person to achieve this level of carnage. The Joker could've done it (although Bruce doubted that), or the mystery woman, or any other trained killer.

Instead of directly responding to the police commissioner's theory, a particular piece of information about the crime scene caught Bruce's eye and he rasped, "There was a bomb...?" He read a little more. "But it was already defused?" That was incredibly strange. Why would someone bother to defuse a bomb if the intended victims were going to die anyway? And who even defused it? The person responsible for these murders? Another party? The Joker himself?

"Yes, but forensics didn't find any fingerprints on it." Gordon's voice sounded just as perplexed as Bruce felt. "We have no idea who placed it there, let alone who defused it." The man cleared his throat. "But if the Joker _is_ involved, I'm willing to bet he's responsible for the bomb. He's shown an aptitude for explosives before."

On that front, Bruce agreed. "I'll try to trace the C-4, see what I can come up with."

Gordon cast another anxious glance at the rooftop door, as if conscious about how long he had been speaking with Bruce. These nighttime meetings had become far riskier and less frequent in light of the Batman's fugitive status; if the police commissioner was caught colluding with him it could mean the loss of Gordon's job and possibly jail time. It was a miracle in and of itself that the man had managed to replace the bat floodlight without attracting undue suspicion.

"I'll continue looking into the victims," Gordon said after a period of prolonged silence. "But I doubt we'll find any leads there. Most of them were just small-timers with a couple convictions, nothing major." He placed his hands on his hips, watching as Bruce skimmed through the dead men's files. "The only one really worth our time is a Russian national named Alexei, we could find something there. He was pretty high up in one of the Bratva syndicates, from what I've heard." A frown settled over the police commissioner's face. "No clue how he ended up in Gotham."

"Alexei?" Bruce's heart rate spiked as he recalled recently investigating a man by that very name. Ever since the drug bust, he had been researching the Bratva and all it's syndicates thoroughly, searching for any woman associated with them. While inquiring into the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the largest and most lucrative branch, he had come across one Alexei Fedorov, a prominent man within the mob whose main notoriety stemmed from the fact that he generally handled the hired contract killers in lieu of the top bosses, establishing a certain degree of anonymity and distance from the mob heads and their bloodiest employees. Bruce wouldn't have given him a second glance had it not been for the fact that Alexei's name was linked with the most infamous female killer in Europe, who happened to be contracted with the very same Bratva. Originally, he had dismissed the idea of linking said assassin with the mystery woman, as the former was confidently assumed to be a Russian national herself, something which contrasted sharply with the mystery woman's obvious American accent. But now Bruce wasn't so sure.

"You've heard of him?" Gordon's question pulled him back to reality and he looked up from the files, blinking.

"He was a handler for the Solntsevskaya Bratva." When the police commissioner pulled a face of confusion, Bruce elaborated bluntly. "He dealt with their hitmen."

The man raised his eyebrows at that, exhaling slowly as he processed the information. "I see," he murmured, "do you have any leads on him I should look into?"

"Just one," Bruce told him, securing the bundle of manila envelopes. "Look into his involvement with Roulette."

"Roulette?" Gordon's brow furrowed. "Who's he?"

Bruce caught the police commissioner's gaze in his own, the ghost of a grin spreading across his mouth. "Roulette's a _she_." Suddenly, realization dawned on Gordon's face.

* * *

The van navigated through the streets of Gotham as Anne and the Joker sat in the back, facing each other and listening to the sounds of the city: car horns blaring, people shouting, the monorail train rumbling overhead. They were alone except for Adrian (her _favorite_ henchman), whom J had delegated the task of driving. Anne had no idea where they were headed. When the Joker had first come to her and instructed that she follow him, the contract killer had of course asked where they were going, more than a little suspicious given recent events. J, however, had not seen fit to divulge what this small, sudden excursion was about, and had instead dragged her into the back of the van alongside himself. She had had time to grab her gun (a Beretta M9, since the Joker had yet to return her favorite Glock) and holster, but that was it. She wasn't even wearing a ski mask, although she supposed it didn't matter so much anymore.

It had been a couple days since the incident at the warehouse, and while Anne certainly wasn't about to exact revenge on J over the near-death experience, she was still more wary around him than she had been before. Perhaps that was for the best, though. After all, the Joker was someone any sane person would be scared of. Anne should've been no exception, career choices aside. _Yeah, so then what sane person would fuck him?_ The question was slightly discomfiting to her - and it wasn't the first time she had thought it either - but the contract killer wasn't sorry she had consummated their strange, cat and mouse relationship. It had been gratifying, to say the least. And the Joker, for his part, also seemed far from showing remorse on the subject.

Unfortunately, her gunshot wound still stung, and Anne knew it would for some time. However, upon returning to the house that fateful night, she had disinfected, sewed, and bandaged it to the best of her ability, staving off infection and further damage. So, although there was pain, she could function relatively normally and wasn't nearly as handicapped as she had been after her concussion. In fact, at this point, Anne had grown rather used to weathering gunshot wounds.

Furthermore, the small amount of discomfort she had to endure was made palatable by the memory of the henchmen's faces when she had limped back into the house that night, right on the heels of the Joker. It was clear they had never expected to see her again, at least not alive. There had been about six in the living room (more than usual, but Anne had a feeling they had been called there by J himself, in anticipation of the night's events) and all had stared at her with unconcealed shock, mixed with just the _tiniest_ bit of fear. The contract killer had felt more than vindicated, content now that they all realized she would not be gotten rid of so easily. Anne was a force to be reckoned with on her own, irrespective of whether she had the Joker's favor. But, of course, it still helped to be in the clown's good graces, and she was sure several of the henchmen had at least caught on as to exactly where Anne stood with the boss after that night (if they hadn't already suspected beforehand).

A sudden movement from the Joker caught her attention, and she was pulled out of memory lane, straightening up as she brought one of her feet upwards to rest on the van's bench. Eyeing J carefully, she watched as he shifted and reached into his overcoat, the action immediately putting her on the defensive. Anne felt as though her worst fears were confirmed once she recognized the shape of a handgun in J's fist, and she grabbed for her Beretta, heart pounding.

"What the fu-" The contract killer sputtered, fingers beginning to close around her gun's grip until the Joker benignly held the uncovered gun out for Anne's inspection. It was her confiscated Glock.

Sighing in relief, she released her Beretta and slumped backwards against the van, an unwilling laugh bursting from her lips. Although, her initially anxious reaction had not gone unnoticed, and J gave a malicious chuckle before tossing the Glock her way. "There ya go, doll." She caught it easily, beaming as he added, "I was, uh, keeping it _safe_ for ya."

"Uh huh." Her tone was somewhat irritated, but Anne's smile belied her true feelings. She was _ecstatic_. Placing a theatrical kiss against the gun's cool metal, she murmured, "It's good to have ya back, buddy." Then, checking the mag to make sure it was full, she replaced the Beretta with her Glock, feeling far more secure with the trusty pistol at her side.

The Joker, who had been looking at her with twinkling amusement, broke the silence in his typical taunting style, "And people say _I'm_ strange."

Anne shot him a look at that but held her tongue, still too wary of the clown to allow her mouth free reign as she normally would. J seemed to notice this uncharacteristic restraint and sent her a wide, mocking smile, his features becoming monstrously contorted within the dim light of the van. Rather than rise to the bait, the contract killer simply averted her eyes and rode out the rest of the drive in silence, wishing she had had time to grab her Marlboros.

A short while later (although it felt like an eternity without cigarettes), the van trundled to a stop, prompting J to hop to his feet and motion for Anne to do the same. Intrigued, especially since she could tell they were still in the heart of the city, she obeyed, following the Joker as he threw open the van's back doors and jumped out. They had parked at the mouth of an alley, right in the midst of Midtown Gotham, which instantaneously put Anne on guard, not so much for her sake as for J's. _She_ was dressed inconspicuously enough, with a baggy, black sweatshirt, dark cargo pants, and a bare face, which didn't scream psychopathic killer so much as angsty, alternative teen. The Joker, on the other hand, looked _exactly_ like himself, in the sense that he was wearing the usual face paint and getup. It appeared that the caution Anne had been taught as a method of self-preservation was absolutely lost on the Joker, who most likely didn't give a fuck. Granted it was nighttime, so he would be less recognizable simply for that reason alone, but still, night was also when their dear old friend Batman decided to show his ugly face, making detection all the more concerning.

If this was on J's mind, he did not show it. Instead, he shut the van doors behind them and banged on it's side, letting Adrian know he could drive away. Anne assumed the henchman would circle the block until it was time to pick them up again, but she couldn't be sure. With a twinge of concern, she watched the van drive away, slipping back into the twinkling traffic lights of Gotham. "Come on." Mr. J's gruff command pulled her attention back to him, and Anne turned to find that he had already begun stalking further into the alleyway. Cursing inwardly, she jogged after his coattails, slowing down to a walk once she had fallen into stride.

"Where are we going?" She shot an inquisitive glance in the Joker's direction as she asked, hoping the question wasn't furtive. Her hopes were dashed, however. J was apparently determined to keep her in suspense, as the clown did nothing to acknowledge the query besides momentarily scrunching his lips into an irritated look. _Fine, keep your fucking secrets. God knows ya have enough of them already._

The two walked for less than a minute before J was signaling her to stop, squatting down in front of a back door positioned off to the side of the alleyway, out of sight of any windows. Clearing his throat, he rummaged around in his coat pockets for a moment and produced a lockpick. Anne had used one before, on several occasions, but was by no means an expert. She hoped the Joker proved faster than her at the task. The contract killer hated being out in the open like this. There was too much uncertainty, too many variables. Not to mention she had no idea what they were doing here.

"You're just breaking into this place?" Anne asked after a period of silence, leaning against the brick of the building while J worked. "Why'd ya even bring me?"

"For the cameras," he muttered back distractedly, the sentence seemingly more of a reminder to himself than a response to Anne. It did little to calm her nerves, and she was left feeling more perplexed and on-edge than before.

"Okayyy, so like-" However the sudden appearance of a man turning the corner of the alley quickly shut her up.

"Who the fuck are… are you guys?" The stranger's slurred words alerted Anne to the fact that he was undoubtedly drunk, and on instinct she reached for her Glock, to eliminate the threat as efficiently and swiftly as possible.

"Ah, _no_ guns," the Joker piped up, looking entirely unmoved as he cast a disinterested glance in the newcomer's direction. "Ya know, we don't wanna attract… un _wanted_ attention." Anne paused and nodded, realizing the sense in his words. The stranger, at this point, had caught wind of the fact that she and J were up to no good, and had apparently decided to take it upon himself to attempt and remedy that.

"Hey, _hey_!" He blustered, striding unsteadily towards them. "You can't, uhh, you can't do that! You can't break in, that's illegal!" Anne rolled her eyes at the man's indignant splutters, praying she never acted this stupid when she was drunk. She _was_ , however, grateful that the stranger was willingly wandering so close, as trying to chase someone down in such a short alleyway, no matter how drunk they were, was bound to cause some problems in Midtown.

Anne walked a couple paces forward, positioning herself between J and the stranger as the latter continued advancing. He still appeared to be muttering vague threats, but she paid little attention to these, instead waiting until he was less than a foot away to strike. She kicked him in the gut first, backing him up a step as he grunted in surprise and pain, apparently taken aback (literally) by the strength of Anne's kick. Then, before he could recover, she was turning on her heel, bringing her other foot up with as much force as she could muster and smashing it into the stranger's head with an audible crunch. He became slack, crumbling onto the asphalt as the blunt force and booze worked their magic.

Clenching her jaw, Anne ruefully rubbed her gunshot wound, which had been aggravated by the sudden exertion, then reached down and began dragging the man towards the Joker. She was sure J wanted the now-unconscious stranger dead, but as the contract killer had no knives on her person to accomplish that task, she needed one of the clown's.

The Joker turned to look down at her as she dragged the body towards him, a noise coming from the back of his throat. "That was pret _ty_ quick," he observed languidly. She couldn't be sure, but Anne swore she heard a note of approval in his voice.

Sending him a rather cheeky grin, she said, "Yeah, it's almost like I've been doing this shit for years." At the sarcasm, J's eyes widened in mock-surprise, as though he _didn't_ know Anne had a contrarian streak that bordered on insolence half the time.

"You're feeling bold today," he quipped back, voice high and nasally. She could tell his tone brooked trouble, but probably nothing too serious. Still, Anne decided to tread lightly just in case, and merely winked at the Joker in response, hoping her face showed the adoration she felt for him despite everything. Apparently her passivity worked, because the Joker merely snorted and began fishing around in his pockets once more, pulling out a switchblade and tossing it to her, as though he had read the contract killer's mind earlier. "Kill him and then, uh… put a _smile_ on his face." J grinned himself as he gave her the command, the action distinctly malevolent.

"Sure thing, Mr. J," she murmured, ripping her gaze away from the Joker and clicking a button on the OTF knife, allowing the blade to pop out. To kill the man, Anne merely slit his throat, cutting both the carotid arteries so that she was positive he would bleed to death before coming to. The next part of J's order, however, was more gruesome. Cutting a smile into someone's face felt naturally repulsive to Anne, although she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was some lingering trace of her old self, popping up in righteous indignation at the thought of defacing a fellow human being in such a manner. As if she hadn't done so much worse before. _If only I was angry._ When her temper flared up, Anne was capable of doing the most unspeakable things, so all-consuming did her rage become. But she didn't feel particularly furious at the moment; in fact, she felt rather cheerful.

Swallowing and setting her jaw, she tightened her grip and slipped the blade between the man's lips, pressing the sharpened edge into the corner of his slackened mouth and bearing down hard. _Oh, that's_ real _cute._ It took less physical effort than cutting a throat did, the skin in the cheeks giving way easily once Anne got going. She cut one side as carefully as possible, then the other, blinking and trying to approach it with the same detached attitude that she would a contracted kill.

When she finished, blood splattered across her sweatshirt and face, she looked up at the Joker, who had finally managed to pick the lock and was leaning against the threshold, foot propping open the door. He had been watching her throughout, of that she had no doubt, especially considering the dark glint the contract killer found in his eyes. There was a small smirk curling at the edges of his red mouth too, and she saw his tongue running compulsively along the inside of his scars as he locked gazes with her. Something seemed off and a slight panic gripped Anne as she wondered whether he had sensed her hesitation.

If he did, thankfully he made no mention of it, instead jerking his chin towards the darkened interior the back door had opened into. "Inside, dollface," he drawled.

Flicking the switchblade closed, she cocked an eyebrow and made her way over to the Joker, returning the bloodied knife. "Here ya go, honey." Her voice was quiet, given their proximity, and J's smirk grew as he took the weapon, then reached up to grab her chin, giving her head a couple rough shakes. The action read as decidedly possessive, but Anne was far from caring. He held her there for a moment, standing in the doorway, black eyes flashing as he studied the blood speckled across her face. Cocking his head in silence, J wiped away one of the crimson droplets with a gloved thumb, brushing her lip in the process. A tiny grin curled at Anne's mouth in response, and her gaze flicked from his hand back up to his eyes, wondering what he was thinking in that oddly intimate moment. A second later, however, the spell was broken; the Joker shook his head and blinked, removing his hand from her face.

"Ah, after _you_ ," he piped up with his usual faux-cheer, indicating the entrance with an arm and pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Deciding to go along with the act, Anne beamed and stepped into the building. "What a _gentleman_ ," she teased, venturing deeper into the hall while J closed the door behind them. It didn't take long for the contract killer to realize she had entered a darkened kitchen, the professional kind one would find at the back of a restaurant or pub.

Knowing better than to ask, Anne merely shot the Joker a curious look, stepping aside and allowing him to take the lead since she had absolutely no clue what they were doing there. Shoving past without a second glance, J trekked onwards, navigating through the kitchen and swiveling his head from side to side as if he himself didn't know exactly where they were going. She assumed he was looking for something. _What_ he was looking for, however, was completely unknown to Anne.

Eventually the two made it out of the kitchen and into a hallway, which clearly led to a series of employee bathrooms and offices. Making a distinct noise in the back of his throat, the Joker cast a glance around and began shoving open all the office doors. Furrowing her brow, Anne turned the other way, deciding to take it upon herself to find out exactly where they were. Wandering to the other end of the hall, she pushed open the double doors which led from the kitchen into what appeared to be a bar area. _A bar? What the fuck does J want with a bar?_ Huge, block lettering on the front windows told Anne it was called Lou's Bar, only furthering her confusion. _Is this a front or something?_

Frowning, she shook her head and walked back into the hallway, finding that the Joker had made himself at home inside what appeared to be a manager's office, lounging in the desk chair and fiddling with a computer. "Ya got yourself seen." He didn't bother to look up at Anne as she entered and sat herself on the desk, right beside the computer.

"Yeah? By who?" She cast a look towards the empty doorway and the darkened, tiled hallway beyond it. "I don't see anyone."

In response, J turned the computer monitor towards her and jabbed his finger at a little square on the screen, which was playing security footage of the bar Anne had just been standing in. Her mouth formed an 'O' in reply, causing the Joker to snort in amusement, pulling the screen back towards him and yanking a flash drive out of his coat pocket.

"So are ya gonna erase the footage?" She prodded as J jammed the device into the computer and began clicking various buttons on the keyboard. Anne didn't exactly want the GCPD or Batman to have a photo of her without any sort of disguise or makeup on, however dim and grainy it may be. There was always a possibility it could end very badly for her.

"What's the, uh, _point_ of having a doll if ya can't put her on display?" His tongue flicked out as he spoke, although he didn't even glance in Anne's direction, the question more a taunt than a genuine remark. " _Hmm_?"

Narrowing her eyes at the Joker's painted face, she retorted, "I thought the point of having a doll was to play with her." _That_ caught J's attention and he actually cackled, the noise erratic and chilling.

"Well that's what… what makes her fun," he elaborated, finally locking gazes with Anne for a mere second before returning his focus to the computer. "But it's not the _point_." The last part of his statement sounded like an afterthought and it made the contract killer wonder what exactly the Joker had in mind for her. Perhaps J had finally relented and accepted her into his ranks because he had decided Anne had more use to him alive than dead, at least for the time being. She couldn't help but theorize what that 'use' might entail.

Silence then settled over them as the Joker continued whatever he had been doing on the computer. Anne sat there, swinging her legs in boredom for what felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to five minutes. She was just about to get up and go poke her nose throughout the rest of the building when J gave an abrupt laugh, sounding triumphant as he bared his yellow teeth.

"Whatcha do, Mr. J?" She asked, craning her neck to try and see the screen. In lieu of replying, the Joker merely broadened his smile and motioned for her to come stand beside him, tongue wagging out like that of a happy dog.

Curious, Anne hopped off the desk and came to lean against the Joker's chair, propping her weight up with a hand on his shoulder. If the unsolicited contact annoyed J, he made no mention of it, instead pointing to the computer monitor, which was currently playing a clip of security footage whose time stamp told Anne it had been recorded in the summer of 2008. It showed a horribly mangled man shooting another, seemingly normal man as the latter sat on a barstool.

"What the _fuck_?" She gasped, leaning in closer to get a better view of the wounded man. It looked like the skin on the left half of his face and shoulder had been completely burned away, exposing bloody muscle, tendons, and even a bit of bone. His eye was perhaps the most disturbing part, protruding from its socket almost in entirety, gazing without expression at the sitting man. "Who is that?" She shot a look at J, brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and disgust. "And what fucking happened to him?"

The Joker seemed pleased with her response, apparently expecting just such a reaction from the contract killer. "That's what became of _Harveyyy_ _Dent_ ," he crooned, drawing out the name in his typical sing-song manner. Anne could tell J relished discussing this topic, delighted to gloat about the fine work he had accomplished in respect to the old District Attorney. "And as to what _happened_ to him? Let's just say he, ah… _flew_ too close to the sun."

Anne didn't get it. "What do ya mean?" She asked, lowering herself into a squat so that she didn't have to continue bending over to view the screen. The Joker, however, apparently found her lack of comprehension, or perhaps her incessant questions, irritating. His features slackened as he sent her a decidedly dangerous look. Anne barely had time to panic before he was grabbing the back of her neck and slamming her forehead into the desktop with agonizing force.

Stars danced before her vision as she collapsed onto the floor, the Joker releasing her once the violent act was over. _Fuck_ , she cursed inwardly, curling her legs up so that they weren't in J's immediate line of fire, worried he might not be satisfied yet. He made no other move towards Anne, however, merely continuing to talk with a nonchalant air, as though he hadn't just slammed her into a desk. _And right when my face was starting to heal._

"The unlucky _duck_ he's shooting," J plowed on while Anne brought a hand up to her head, prodding tenderly at the massive bruise now blossoming there, "is, uh, Wertz? Wurtz?" From her spot on the floor, she could see the Joker's eyes scrunch up as if pondering the name. "Wurtz," he decided after a moment. "A detective with the Gotham police force." At the elaboration he shot Anne a look, the grin curling at his scarred mouth so malignant it made the contract killer frightened he was going to attack her again.

She scooted back until she hit the wall, trying to put as much distance between her and the Joker as possible. The disorienting blow she had just taken to the head would make fighting a bit more challenging than usual, but it was nothing the contract killer was unaccustomed to. The night of the warehouse she had killed two men while weathering a gunshot wound, and she had accomplished similar feats before as well. Granted, the Joker was undoubtedly a more skilled and dangerous opponent than most she faced, but if Anne could maintain a good deal of space between them, she liked her chances. It was only when J had her pinned that all hope began to fade.

But, thankfully, it appeared that Anne would not have to fight the Joker after all (at least not at the moment), because rather than making any move towards her, J simply stared, as if expecting something. Swallowing, eyes still wide with unease, she cocked her head to the side, signaling to the Joker that she wasn't sure what he wanted from her. Clearly amused by the extreme wariness, he raised his brows and spelled out with astounding condescension, "What do ya _think_ , dollface?"

 _What do_ I _think?_ Anne silently repeated with derision. _What the fuck does it matter? Like you give a flying fuck what I think!_ Yet aloud she uttered no such thought, instead shifting to a more comfortable position on the floor and intoning cautiously, "So this Dent dude killed some fucking cop and the bar got it on their security cameras." Her eyes flicked down to where the Joker had inserted his flash drive into the computer's USB port. "And lemme guess, you're taking the footage so that ya can show it to Gotham and prove Dent was just as bad as the rest of us." J snickered at her words, making Anne assume she had guessed his intentions accurately. "How has this shit not gotten out before?" She pointed at the screen. "Whoever owns this bar knows what Dent did."

The Joker gave her one of his winning smiles at the question, clearly approving. " _Gordon_ and his men got here first," he said, spitting the police commissioner's name with a particular vehemence. "Only the owner knew, he was bartending that day." Something popped-up on the computer screen as J paused, clicked a button, and then pulled the flash drive out, storing it safely in his pocket once more. "They convinced the, uh, _poor_ sucker not to tell, probably paid him off. But," he wagged a finger at Anne, "Gordon didn't think to erase the security videos. Ah, _oops_." Despite everything, the contract killer chuckled at his scorn, finding herself in the inevitable position of being unable to stay mad at the Joker for any prolonged period of time. Even in light of her badly bruised forehead. _Hey, at least he didn't give ya another concussion._

With that astonishingly low bar set in her mind, Anne hesitantly got to her feet, keeping a watchful eye on the Joker while she did so, making sure he wasn't finding the action upsetting. Apparently he was done punishing her physically - for the time being - because he merely eyed her with a mild mix of disinterest and general malevolence. Then, slapping his knees in a wildly exaggerated manner, got to his feet as well, turning off the computer and heading for the doorway without even turning to see if Anne was following. _Maybe he just knows that, by now, I'd follow him to the ends of the fucking earth._ Not entirely sure how she felt about this revelation, she nonetheless hurried after J, surprised to find that instead of heading into the kitchen to exit the way they had entered, he had instead turned towards the bar area.

Flinging open the double doors, the Joker strode into the center of the bar room, defiantly facing the security camera trained straight at him and giving it his largest, meanest smile. Only after he realized Anne was lingering in the threshold, unsure of where he wanted her, did J shoot her an irritated look, black eyes glinting. "Come here," he commanded in a tone that brooked no wavering. Sighing in resignation, the contract killer walked towards him until she came to stand by his side, at which point he threw an arm around her waist, holding her to him with an iron grip. " _Smile_ for the cameras, dollface," the Joker growled, his voice dropping an octave and sending shivers up Anne's spine. "It's why you're here."

"Whatever ya say, Mr. J." Feeling the skin around her eyes bunch, she pulled her features into a painful grin. Anne understood what the Joker was doing - she wasn't an idiot, despite what he might think. He was taunting Batman, and presumably Gordon as well, by making no secret of the fact that he had been to the bar which held damning evidence against Harvey Dent. Doubtless the vigilante and his pet commissioner would be able to piece together what J's nighttime visit meant for Gotham. Why the clown felt the need to also include _Anne_ in the frame was more puzzling. Perhaps the Joker simply wanted to showcase the fact that now she was fully under his control. Or maybe he was trying, in his twisted way, to make the Batman jealous. She knew he had a deep seated love-hate relationship with the masked vigilante, which included a more genuine admiration for Flying Mammal Man than he held for Anne, and _certainly_ a more genuine affection (which irked her more than a little). In his delusion, however, J seemed to also believe that Batman held this same regard for him, something the contract killer highly doubted. Although to voice such misgivings in the Joker's presence would be nothing short of suicide.

After a second of this terrifying smiling, J dropped his arm and turned back towards the kitchen, motioning with a flick of the hand for Anne to do the same. She didn't need to be told twice; as it was, the fact that the GCPD and Batman would have a picture of her exposed face was aggravating enough. Quickly pivoting and pulling up her sweatshirt's hood, Anne obediently followed the Joker out of the bar, through the kitchen, and back into the alleyway.

The stranger's mutilated corpse, lying sprawled on the asphalt, caught her eye the moment she shut the bar's backdoor behind her and, without thinking, she reached up and wiped the remaining blood off her face. The Joker must've noticed the action because he sent her a wide, sardonic grin and growled in his venomous tone, "Why dontcha put him in front of the door?" He leaned ever-so-slightly forward as he spoke, as though instructing an ignorant child. "Sit him up _nice_ and pretty."

Anne nodded but said nothing, merely striding over to the dead man and dragging his lifeless body towards the bar's door, where she propped it up just as J had ordered. The movement left a smear of dark blood in the corpse's wake, and when she cast a look down at her own gloved hands, she noticed they too were covered in the sticky substance. Rolling her eyes, she wiped them off on the body before straightening back up. The noise of a dial tone drew the contract killer's attention back to the Joker, and she pivoted, watching as he brought a cell phone up to his ear. "We're done, come back," he snapped into the device.

Curious, she wandered closer, coming to stand in front of J as he flipped the phone shut and pocketed it. "Adrian?" She asked, not bothering to hide her smirk.

The Joker, sensing where her arrogance stemmed from, at first cocked a blackened eyebrow, studying Anne's face before deciding how to respond - eventually landing on humor. With an almost involuntary snort, one which showcased just how funny he actually found the situation, J mused, " _So_ , you know his name now." His brow raised as he turned his head to the side, looking at her suggestively. "Should I, uh, expect a happy _announce_ ment by the end of the week?"

Anne gave a sudden, short laugh at the joke, taken aback by the absurdity of it. "You're _not_ funny," she managed, turning her head to hide the grin tugging at her lips. _Way to be so fucking transparent, honey._

The Joker wasn't about to let her get away that easily, however. His hand shot out the second she looked away, grabbing her jaw with bruising force and redirecting her gaze to his face. " _Hmm_?" He taunted, eyes glinting as she attempted to stifle more laughs. "What was that, dollface? I couldn't, uh- I couldn't quite _hear_ you."

Folding her lips together, Anne shook her head and refused to answer, knowing it was what the Joker wanted from her. As much as she might have liked to be defiant and repeat back _exactly_ what had been said before, the contract killer was painfully aware of how easily J's playfulness could turn violent. She could only push her luck so far. Anne had realized, somewhat to her detriment, that just because the Joker fucked her, it was by no means a guarantee he would put up with her mouth the way Alexei had. She didn't _necessarily_ mind, as she was more than prepared to sacrifice everything in order to please J, but it definitely put a damper on her spirit.

The Joker, upon seeing the way her lips were still stubbornly attempting to form a grin and the attraction mingled with adoration shining in her eyes, became satisfied. Giving her one of his rakish smiles, he pulled his hand away, getting distracted by headlights flashing across the mouth of the alley. Anne turned as well, watching as the van, driven by Adrian, backed slowly into the alleyway, eventually coming to a stop a few yards away. J started towards it, and she made to follow, before the clown abruptly halted.

"Ahh, almost forgot," he muttered, theatrically holding up a forefinger in the universal sign for 'one minute.' Then, pivoting on his heel, he strode towards the corpse leaning against the bar's backdoor. Intrigued, Anne watched through narrowed eyes as the Joker crouched in front of the slumped, bloodied figure, and pulled what appeared to be a joker card from one of his many coat pockets, pinning it to the body.

Frowning in thought, she remained standing there, gazing at the corpse, even as J left it behind and began ambling towards the van again. Seeing Anne's hesitation, the clown glanced down at her and snapped, "Let's _go_." Blinking, she obeyed, not wanting to further irritate J, as she was _slightly_ concerned that another blow to the head would result in a second concussion. Needless to say, the contract killer was desperate to avoid that, the frustrating memories of her total incapacitation far from forgotten.

Hard on the Joker's heels, she scrambled after him into the van, resuming her old seat as the vehicle purred to life and slipped back into Gotham's traffic. The two rode in silence all the way back to the house, by which point it must've been nearly 1 am. Yawning, and sorely missing her cigarettes, Anne jumped from the back the second Adrian had parked, grabbing her extra Beretta on the way out. The Joker followed, largely ignoring her as he hurried towards the house, not even bothering to close the van's doors behind him. _Seriously?_ Anne watched him go with narrowed eyes, then, sucking on her teeth all the while, shut the backdoors herself.

Once that was done, she skirted around the edge of the van, only to bump into Adrian as he exited the driver's seat and headed towards the vehicle's back, presumably to make sure the doors had been properly closed. The moment he saw her that familiar loathing bloomed into his eyes, mouth hardening and nostrils flaring as Anne sent him a winning smile. "Oh, ' _scuse_ me, honey," she giggled, taking immense joy in tormenting the man. Despite her words, however, the contract killer made no move to step out of Adrian's way, instead doing the exact opposite. Everytime he attempted to go around her, she sidled in that direction, blocking his way. It was undoubtedly childish, but Anne had _certainly_ never claimed to be the bigger person.

"Get out of the way, bitch," he spat after a moment, beginning to pull his arm back to punch her before noticing the gun in her hand and apparently thinking better of it.

Anne watched the veins bulging in his neck with vivid delight, widening her smile. "Ya wanna say that a little nicer?"

At her comment, Adrian grinded his teeth and stepped nearer, so that their faces were mere inches apart. Then, with palpable hatred in each word, hissed, " _One day_ , the boss will get tired of fucking you, and then you can kiss his protection goodbye. When that day comes, and trust me, it fucking will," his voice lowered, "you bet your bitch ass I'll be right fucking here, _waiting_ to cut you into a thousand fucking pieces."

She tilted her chin upwards at that, speaking through her teeth. "Well, you'll certainly be fighting a fuck ton of people for that privilege." With a smirk, she added, "Namely, the Joker himself." Adrian spit in response, glaring at her for a second longer before attempting once more to step around. Anne wasn't quite done, however. Blocking his way, she placed a hand on his chest and shoved him backwards, making the henchman widen his eyes, infuriated, and pull his arm back to hit her. The contract killer was quicker, however, raising her Beretta and aiming it between his eyes. "Lemme clear something up for ya," she snarled as he dropped his fist, "the boss's _protection_ goes both ways. I mean, do ya really think I would've let you live this long if it wasn't for him? C'mon, honey, _think_ about it." Anne bared her teeth, moving closer and shoving her gun's barrel under the man's chin. She could tell it was taking all his restraint not to strangle her right there and then. "If I could kill that little girl of yours… who was what? Eight? Nine?" A cold grin appeared on her lips as Adrian ground his teeth with so much force it was a miracle they didn't shatter. "If I could shoot her without a second thought," she continued, "what do ya think I could do to you?"

It appeared Adrian didn't trust himself to respond, because he merely continued to stare at Anne with such obvious hatred she could practically see herself being torn apart in his mind. As she met his gaze, however, she noticed something else glinting there too, something approaching fear. _There ya go, honey._ Smiling in satisfaction, she finally relented and flattened herself against the side of the van, allowing the henchman to pass. He did so without a second glance, shoving past with enough aggression that Anne stumbled. She didn't mind, his helpless fury more than made up for the occasional push.

The contract killer watched him go with a sadistic smile, eyeing his back until he was out of sight, at which point she turned towards the house and nearly skipped up the front stoop. Entering, she found the living room empty with the exception of two henchmen who were smoking crack from a pipe. A couple pizza boxes lay scattered across the floor and the one, tattered couch someone had brought in for furniture had already accumulated it's fair share of stains. _I could buy some shit for this place_ , Anne realized, gazing across the rundown room. She certainly had the money (more than she could spend in ten lifetimes), she had just never particularly felt the need to cozy up headquarters. Her own makeshift bedroom, which was an office space in truth, only had an air mattress and some cardboard boxes serving as tables inside. It was enough for her, however she _did_ miss drinking coffee. _Maybe a coffee maker, then? One of those real fancy fuckers. That'd be cool._

Grinning to herself, she turned to head into her room when the sight of J standing in the hallway stopped her dead. It took all the contract killer's willpower not to jump. "Ya just been standing there the whole time?" She finally asked, cocking a brow.

The Joker, who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, snorted at this but did not answer. Instead, he pushed off and began shuffling towards the commandeered suite, calling over his shoulder, "Let's talk, dollface."

A mix of curiosity, excitement, and foreboding all twisted into Anne's stomach at the Joker's words. She was used to the feeling, it always came whenever the clown wanted her undivided attention. She was almost certain it stemmed from her painful awareness of how uncertain the outcome of all interactions with the mercurial Joker were. It was truly a testament to the man's status as something close to a living god that the contract killer found it in her to be afraid of him. Anne didn't shrink from this fact, either. It was a healthy fear, the kind of fear that had kept her alive all her life.

Acutely aware that she felt like a lamb being led to slaughter, Anne followed J down the darkened hallway, pausing only briefly at the door to her own room so that she could deposit her sweatshirt, both guns, and her holster, as well as grab the longed for Marlboros. Then, without further ado, she lit a cigarette and wandered over to the Joker's bedroom, which emitted a faint smell of gasoline and gunpowder, just like the clown himself. The door had been left open for her, just a crack, and Anne slipped inside without announcing herself, knowing the Joker, with his inhuman senses, was more than aware of her presence.

" _There_ she is." J sent the contract killer one of his large, unsettling smiles as she closed the door behind her, sucking on the cigarette. "Ah, make yourself at home," he instructed with mocking sincerity, the taunting aspect of his tone making it clear that if Anne took him at his word, she would pay dearly.

Still, she knew how this game was played; rather than call him out on the bullshit, Anne gave a hollow grin. "Thanks, Mr. J." She didn't move a muscle, however, standing directly in front of the door as the Joker meandered about, flinging off his purple overcoat and suit jacket, leaving only the vest and button-up shirt on his person. He even removed his gloves, something Anne had only seen him do on rare occasions. With a private snort, she held the Marlboro between her front teeth, and took off her own black gloves, pocketing them before refocusing on J. She found that he was staring at her with that imperceptible glint.

Meeting her gaze, he raised his brow in feigned surprise, as if asking innocently why Anne had not made any move to seat herself. "Sit down, doll, you're, uh, making me _nervous_ ," he drawled.

The contract killer's eyes widened at that, and a grin pulled at her mouth, finding the blatant lie amusing. "Oh, _apologies_ ," she shot back, voice dripping in sarcasm. Shutting the door behind her and doing her best to ignore the dark mirth blooming in J's gaze, Anne walked over to his desk. She plopped herself on it, just like she had done in the bar. "Better?"

Smirking at her tone, J stalked over, coming to stand directly in front of Anne and placing a hand on either side of her, leaning in. " _Much_ better," he replied, voice lowering an octave as his black eyes dropped to her lips. The contract killer suddenly wondered if he had brought her in here to fuck, but the idea quickly dissipated when he merely reached up and plucked the Marlboro from her mouth, taking a drag on it himself. He did, however, seem to guess at what Anne had been thinking, glancing at her from behind the cigarette smoke with unconcealed arrogance. His smirk widened. "I wantcha to _tell_ me something, Anne." His voice, nonchalant and airy, split the tense silence after a moment.

"Anything." Her compliance came without hesitation, ignoring the shiver running up her spine at the sound of her name in his mouth.

With a smile, the Joker grabbed her left hand, now gloveless, and, turning it palm-up, extinguished the cigarette against her flesh. Anne clenched her jaw as the embers pressed into her, but made no move to pull the hand away, instead watching with fascination as the skin seared and turned an angry red. It hurt, but the contract killer found that she didn't mind, enjoying the way her adrenaline spiked and a kind of tension within seemed to loosen. _Fuck him, he knows exactly what he's doing._ Anne had always had a craving for pain, but the Joker certainly did appear to be the perfect personification of it; an amalgamation of all her addictions neatly fitted into one clown. And he knew it too. He knew the power he had over her.

Grinning at her reaction, J finally took the cigarette away, tossing it aside and dropping her hand. Then, not bothering to hide his enjoyment of her pain, happily asked, "Who was the first person ya killed, mmm?" His yellow teeth bared themselves in a smile as he cocked his head in pretend interest. "Was it, ah, someone _ya knew_? Or just… just an unlucky by _stander_ who happened to look at'cha sideways?"

Taken aback by the question, Anne furrowed her brow and gave a small, nearly imperceptible shake of the head. "Neither," she murmured, pulling out another cigarette and placing it between her lips. "It was… um, it was just this dude." She didn't particularly want to tell the Joker about her first kill, not due to any lingering sense of shame or guilt (in fact, of all her past hits, this one troubled her the least), but because it involved parties she would rather keep out of J's reach.

Sensing her hesitation, the Joker's eyes lit up with a dangerous mix of actual curiosity and anger - anger at the fact that she wasn't divulging as freely as he might have liked. "I'm _alllll_ ears, babydoll," he snarled, features becoming slack as the intensity in his gaze heightened. Anne sensed danger immediately and swallowed, deciding she didn't want to add another bruise to the already burgeoning collection on her face.

"Yeah, alright." She lit the Marlboro and inhaled deeply. Then, folding her left hand into a fist and pressing down on the circle-shaped burn now residing there, Anne continued, "I was twelve, which sounds super fucking young, but it's really not when you're talking about the mob." Her gaze flicked upwards to look J in the face, noticing the patches of skin she could see on his forehead, where the paint had smeared away. _Cracks in his mask_. "Which ya probably know," she added, snorting a stream of smoke out. "I mean, these fuckers have kids who are like nine whacking people, so, in that sense, I was a late bloomer. But, anyways, it wasn't even a hit, it was just…." Anne trailed off, unsure of what to call it. "I dunno really, I guess ya could say it was an act of charity or some shit."

The Joker seemed to find that amusing. "An act of charity?" He repeated back, tongue flicking out to lick his crimson scars.

Anne smiled against her will at the mockery. "Go ahead, honey, make fun of me," she retorted, to which J raised his brow, faking a look of surprise at being accused of such behavior. "But that's what it was, in a way - charity." Clearing her throat, she explained, "I didn't go to school like normal kids, 'cause that woulda put me in the system, so my mom just taught me and my brothers." She sent him a grin at this. "And it fucking shows." The Joker cocked his head to the side in clear agreement, yet said nothing. "But for Kat it was different, she went to Gotham schools until she dropped out a couple years back, so, ya know, she had other friends besides me." Anne took a long drag on her cigarette, speaking around the smoke. "One of them was this girl named Isabella Sanchez, she was a couple years older than Kat, and her dad ran with the cartel, which is probably why Kat liked her. Birds of a feather, ya know." The Joker snorted in amusement at that. "Anyways, so her dad was a big fucking dick, from what I heard. Pretty typical asshole stuff, liked the bottle too much, beat his wife every night, shit like that."

"Sounds like someone else's _dear_ old pops," J interjected, sending her a pointed grin which did not meet his eyes. Anne paused at the mention of Thomas Lynn, gazing bitterly at the clown, annoyed at him for bringing it up. This only increased the Joker's joy, and he cuffed her chin in a gesture of mocking affection, taking pleasure in lauding Anne's father over her head whenever he could.

"Tom prefers snow," she shot back, hoping the sharpness didn't earn her a violent rebuke from J.

It didn't. Instead, the Joker simply smiled, enjoying her angry reaction. "Run's in the family," he commented lightly, with the look of someone who knew they were poking a bear and couldn't be happier about it.

Anne didn't rise to the bait. Tilting her chin back and gazing at the clown with narrowed eyes, she said, "It certainly fucking does." When she took a deep inhale from her Marlboro rather than continue on, the Joker's black pupils got a dangerous glimmer in them and he leaned closer to Anne.

"Go on, doll," he coaxed, voice low. "I'm on the edge of my sea _t_." His mouth formed a snarl at the last, sardonic syllable, sharply forcing the 't' sound out.

Realizing how close J had gotten, Anne's heart began to race, as it always did when confronted by his proximity. Looking past the curls of thin, graceful smoke trailing from the cigarette, she scanned the Joker's face from lips to forehead, the action reflexive. J caught onto it, doubtless sensing the absolute power he had over her in that moment. A smirk immediately pulled at his red mouth, dead eyes lighting up as Anne herself gave the Joker a visceral reminder of just how helpless she was before him. "Ah, _go on_ ," he repeated, this time with an unconcealed, arrogant grin.

"Sorry," she muttered, hoping the combination of her submission and clear obsession with him would alleviate any anger her delay in the story had caused. "So, um, these two - Kat and Isabella - became glued to each others' asses." Anne sucked desperately on her cigarette as she continued, hoping to calm her racing heart. "Until suddenly little Izzy doesn't show up to school for like two fucking weeks." She paused, checking J's black eyes to make sure she saw no lingering fury. There was none, at least not directed at her. Satisfied, she allowed her tone to become confident once again. "Kat was pretty upset, she fucking bitched about it forever. I thought she was just being dramatic, turns out I was wrong. When Isabella eventually did come back, she had two black eyes and a _great_ sob story." A dry smile twisted her lips. "Her dad had fucking beaten her mom to death, and done a real number on her ass too. I think the police had gotten involved by this point, but that only made things worse for Izzy." Anne gave the slightest shake of her head, eyes downcast. "She thought her dad was gonna kill her."

The Joker, apparently disapproving of the fact that she had looked away, grabbed her jaw and redirected her focus to his face. Then, mercifully, he let go. "So you killed _him_ ," he finished with his usual false cheer.

Anne nodded. "Yeah, Kat told me about the girl and convinced me to meet with her. I could tell Isabella was weirded the fuck out, she didn't think I would be any help. But even then, me and Kat both knew who the killer was out of the two of us. And Kitty Kat wanted this bastard dead… so did Izzy." The contract killer gave a shrug. "I don't know what I wanted, I guess I thought he should die, but I wasn't invested or anything like the other two. But I still agreed to help, 'cause I was fucking twelve and it kinda sounded fun. Like an adventure. Ya know, everything sounds like an adventure when you're fucking twelve." _God, I was such an idiot._ "So I stole one of Tom's guns; a revolver, because it was the only one I was confident I could work on my own. It was…" she trailed off, blowing a stream of smoke to the side. "Fuck, I dunno, it was probably some typa Ruger, I think. I don't remember." Anne frowned, cigarette dangling from her lips. "Anyways, we went to Isabella's house when she knew her dad wouldn't be home and waited. She had a gun too, probably stolen, but I could tell she was gonna be too much of a pussy to actually pull the trigger. She was really fucking scared, so was Kat. That's why I was there, for, like… backup."

She paused then, and scanned the Joker's face, finding it slackened as usual. To his credit, J had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout this leg of the story, and Anne wondered what purpose this was all serving for him. Perhaps he simply wanted the knowledge to have a clearer idea of her personality and past, which the clown could then use to his advantage at a later date. She also knew that J liked toying with her in strange ways, and this could very well be nothing more than an extended game, designed to mess with her head. Anne wondered if any of this gave her the right to ask about _his_ past, but even as the thought crossed her mind she knew it was nothing more than a fantasy. The Joker would never divulge his real name to her, let alone anything about his past self. The contract killer didn't even know how old he was (although she assumed early thirties). She didn't _necessarily_ mind; she cared very little about the man J had been before his transformation into the clown which now stood before her. But still, some small part of Anne wished the Joker trusted her enough to give her a window into his life, the tiniest glimpse of what went on behind his carefully crafted persona. _He never will,_ she thought with a wave of sadness. _He doesn't care about ya enough. You'll never be shit to him except a useful asset. Just more hired help who happens to open her legs once in a while_. She glanced at the cigarette in her hand. _Just another addict looking for her fix._ The realization left a bitter taste in Anne's mouth, but she continued the story dutifully all the same.

"So the dad pulls up, I go to hide in this closet off to the side, and Kat - fucking pussy - gets cold feet and makes a break for it. But Isabella, she… she just fucking stands there." Anne hadn't known what the girl was thinking then, and she still didn't now, some eight years later. "Then this asshole comes storming in, drunk outta his mind, and he sees Izzy and starts fucking screaming at her. He doesn't have a gun, thank God - I dunno what I would've done if he had - but he's definitely about to start beating her ass and she still hasn't taken _her_ fucking gun out." The contract killer could still picture it, the roars of Isabella's father, cursing in Spanish, while the frightened girl just stood there and took it. Anne had been surveying the scene from a crack in the closet, watching as Izzy fingered the gun in her coat pocket but made no move to discharge it. _What the fuck was she doing?_ It was a question Anne still couldn't answer. "So I just jump outta the closet and shoot him, right in the middle of a sentence. I was a fucking shitty shot, 'cause my hands were shaking, so the first bullet just kinda hit him in the side but didn't do any real damage." She met the Joker's empty stare, pressing a finger into her burn. "It took three more shots to finish him off, and I don't think I really even got him until the last one, which blew off a chunk of his head. There was a shit ton of blood. And brains too," she added. "I'm pretty sure that was the first time I'd ever seen a human brain out in the open like that. Ya know, in person." She hadn't been frightened, at least not of the gore. Instead, Anne had felt a peculiar sort of curiosity from the moment she first pulled the trigger up until the point when the man actually expired, brains spilled onto the carpet. Curiosity about what it felt like to take a human life. _It felt fucking good._ She had enjoyed the power it gave her, the ability to pull a trigger and extinguish something as precious as life in the blink of an eye. It had been the first taste of power for a girl who had endured a lifetime of abuse and humiliation. And she had never forgotten it.

"When it was all over," Anne continued, "I just kinda left, 'cause I figured one of the neighbors had called the cops or something. There had been shit ton of loud, fucking noises, after all." She sniffed. "I tried to get Isabella to come with me, but she just fucking stood there, looking at her dad's body. She wasn't even crying or anything, she was just staring." The contract killer took a deep drag on her cigarette, exhaling slowly and watching as the stale smoke created a halo of filth around her. "So I left her; I cut and run." She gave a shrug, as if dismissing her actions. "I haven't seen the girl since, but I know she wasn't arrested, 'cause I kept checking the papers and never saw shit. I guess she's still out there, somewhere." Anne paused for a beat. "Or maybe she's fucking dead, I dunno." Yet something told her Isabella wasn't dead; maybe the girl hadn't been a killer, but she had _definitely_ been a survivor. _She's alive, she's gotta be._

When the Joker realized she was officially done, he raised his brow and asked, "So, uhhh, that was your… act of charity?" He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, like he was embarrassed for Anne. She knew it was all an act, curated specifically to mock her. _Fuck you, J._ He waited until she nodded in affirmation, at which point he piped up, "Well, then a _sainthood_ can't be too far off, can it?"

"You bastard," she laughed, "it was a figure of speech, or whatever the fuck ya call it. It wasn't literal."

"Oh, _good_ ," he grinned, tongue wetting the corner of his mouth. "As long as you're not, ah, _holding_ out for a sainthood, we shouldn't have any problems." At that, the Joker pushed away from the desk, a coldness washing over Anne the moment he left, missing his warmth. Even his pungent smell leaving her nose felt like a loss.

"What do ya mean?" She eyed J's back carefully as he strode over to the stained mattress serving as his bed and picked up a crumpled envelope. Turning back to her with a glint in his gaze, he closed the distance between them and handed the envelope over.

"I need Roulette to make a - make a _guest_ appearance." The Joker's words snapped Anne to attention, instantly sensing danger. She had far from forgotten their last conversation revolving around her Bratva alias.

"She's gone," the contract killer promised, taking the envelope with hesitation. "Dead, just like ya said, Mr. J." She averted her eyes from the Joker's blackened gaze as she spoke, afraid one wrong move would set him off.

However, the clown only seemed to find her clear worry amusing, giving a high-pitched chuckle before grabbing Anne's chin in a filthy hand, forcing her to look up at him. " _Hey_ , look at me, doll." His tone was demanding. "It was a figure of speech, I just need her _talents_. Hmm?" The sardonicism beneath his sentence was obvious as he used Anne's own words against her, giving a small nod as he spoke, as if patronizingly encouraging her to agree with his explanation. Seeing no other option, she swallowed and returned his nod.

"Ya need someone whacked?" Anne asked as J let her go, indicating she should open the envelope.

"Eventually." He stared deadpan at the contract killer while she pulled the contents of the envelope out, finding a couple of photos and a sticky note on which an address and name was written. _Barbara Jean Gordon_ , she read silently. _Is this what Kat was talking about?_

"The commissioner's wife?" Anne sent J a rather confused glance, inspecting the pictures and finding that they showed a middle-aged woman with short, auburn hair and frail features. _This'll be like taking candy from a fucking baby._ "Why her?"

Rather than answering her question, the Joker smiled and plowed on as if she hadn't spoken. "Ya see, this little _bunny_ is gonna be tricky, dollface." Anne cocked an eyebrow at the use of the word 'bunny', but remained silent. "Gordon's been moving his family every week or so," J leaned forward as he spoke, like he was letting her in on a fantastic secret. "Which means, by the time I can find them at one address, the, uh, slippery _commissioner_ has already packed up and _left_."

"Then what's this address?" Anne interjected, pointing to the one written on the sticky note, directly beneath Barbara's name. It took the contract killer approximately two seconds after speaking to realize she had fucked up.

The Joker, a dangerous look crossing his face, grabbed a handful of Anne's hair, pulling so tightly she was sure her scalp was bleeding. "Now what did I _say_ about inter _rupting_?" He forced the last part of his question out with particular venom, yellow teeth baring in a snarl. "It's not very _polite_." When she remained silent, debating whether to stick her still-smoking cigarette butt in his eye, the Joker gave her head a couple rough shakes.

"Sorry, J," Anne finally hissed, desperate to avoid her hair being pulled out. "It won't happen again." Apparently satisfied, the Joker detangled his hand from her scalp with a pointed deliberacy.

"The thing about this one," he continued, ignoring Anne as she gingerly rubbed the back of her head, "is that just a _sniper_ won't do, I need ya to kidnap her first." His voice lowered to a growl. "I have something, ah, _special_ planned for Mrs. Gordon." A look of particular excitement came over J's painted face as he stared at her, tongue wagging out. "The address ya were asking about? That's their last known location. I _fig_ ured you could give it to whoever helped ya break into Arkham, mmm?" At the Joker's words, Anne felt her heart drop and the clown undoubtedly saw it on her face too, because his grin became noticeably more malicious. "Have 'em work their magic." Allowing an ominous pause to stretch between them, he shuffled closer, looming over the contract killer as she sat immobilized on the desk. "How's about it, _doll_?"

It didn't take a genius to realize that Anne was treading on thin ice here. She had no idea how the Joker felt about the fact that Pari existed and the contract killer hadn't told him about it of her own free will. Perhaps he didn't particularly mind and was only bringing it up in order to showcase just how much he could find out against Anne's wishes. Of course, there was always the _other_ possibility that he was mad and planned to take it out on her. She hoped it was the former. "How'd ya find out about them? Was it the earcom I gave ya?" Anne took a deep breath, setting the envelope beside her and hoping her questions didn't belie the sudden spike in anxiety. Averting her gaze, the contract killer tossed her cigarette butt aside, pulling another Marlboro out and lighting it.

The Joker watched her with a kind of boyish joy, seeming to correctly guess what her new cigarette indicated. "That was a, uh… a nice added _touch_ ," J allowed, waving a limp hand through the air. "But c'mon, breaking into Arkham?" He widened his eyes and turned his head, the look so exaggerated Anne had to hold back a smile. "You're good, doll, but you're not _that_ good." A red grin stretched across his face. "I knew ya had to have had help." _Thanks for the vote of confidence, J._

"Uh huh," she murmured, taking a drag on her cigarette and speaking around the smoke. "There's this, uh, this girl…" Anne trailed off, biting her lip and debating how much she should tell J.

"It's not our favorite little _kitten_ , is it?" The Joker piped up, watching her reaction carefully.

Anne merely snorted derisively and shook her head. "Nah, it's not Kat. That kinda shit is way outta her league." _Although, to be fair, she did help me defuse your bomb._ She wasn't about to say this to the Joker, however, wanting to maintain the fantasy that she could defuse a bomb all on her own.

"Thought so." J sent her a grin, eyes glimmering the way they did whenever he was about to purposely piss off Anne. "I've met the pretty kitty and uhhh… Well, ya know what they say about _blondes_."

 _Oh, fuck off._ She sent the Joker a glare and had to refrain from blowing her cigarette smoke at him. "I'm blonde, honey." Her voice was hard, but Anne found that she was too tired to be completely angry.

Obviously delighted by her reaction, J cocked his head and asked much too innocently, "Oh, are ya?" Reaching up, he tugged a strand of her hair, the action aggravating her already sore scalp. "I hadn't noticed."

Fighting the urge to swat J's hand away, knowing it would only annoy him, Anne instead clenched her jaw and muttered, "It's not Kat, it's this girl named Pari. Uh, Khadem. Pari Khadem." At that, the Joker pulled a look of surprise. "She's a fucking genius, I mean this bitch can do anything that involves a computer." She paused, thinking for a beat before adding, "She's a pussy, though. The only reason she agreed to help me whack you was because of your _colorful_ record." A grin tugged at J's lips at the contract killer's description of his past. "She said ya deserved it."

"Did she?" The Joker became quiet and Anne got the feeling she wasn't the only one who wanted Pari dead anymore. "And is this… _genius_ still alive?" The contempt he placed behind the word 'genius' made her think J didn't believe her assessment of the girl's mental capabilities for a second. Despite the fact that Pari had broken into Arkham, a feat few (perhaps not even the Joker himself) could accomplish.

"Yeah, she is," Anne said, "but Pari's not about to help me find Gordon's fucking wife, she'd never agree to that." Exhaling slowly, the contract killer added, "Besides, we're not even on friendly terms anymore. The bitch wants me locked up." She chuckled. "Or dead."

That seemed to somewhat intrigue the Joker and he widened his gaze, tongue running along the inside of his scars. "Because of your _winning_ personality, or, uh, something more?"

Anne snickered. "Oh, my charm isn't the problem," she assured him, leaning on her knees. "She's always thought I was a fucking asshole." The Joker raised his brow at that, mouthing ' _really?_ ' with palpable sarcasm. Her grin widened, somewhat against her will. "When I came to Pari asking for help breaking into the asylum, she was already hesitant. Ya know, she claimed she didn't do shit like that anymore." The contract killer rolled her eyes. "Whatever. She told me she would help with Arkham so I didn't push it. I figured we would part ways peacefully after that." Anne tapped the excess ash off her cigarette as she paused, blood boiling at the memory of Pari's betrayal. "My fucking mistake, I guess. She started ignoring my calls and, eventually, the bitch called the cops on me, at the docks."

Comprehension immediately crossed the Joker's face. "The drug bust," he remarked, voice uncharacteristically even. "And lemme guess," J leaned in, eyes flicking towards the ceiling as he pretended to ponder, "she used that little tracker to find ya."

Anne gave a resigned nod. "Bingo, honey. I forgot I had it on me. But it's fine, I planted the earcom on Gordon as I was leaving, so that-"

"Uh, _what_?" The Joker interrupted her with a snap, features becoming slack as a dangerous glint entered his black eyes. The contract killer smelled danger immediately. _Fuck, what did I do?_ "I must be… hearing things, dollface. 'Cause ya know what it _sounded_ like?" J raised his brows, an innocuous action in and of itself, but Anne could see the cold anger blooming in his gaze. "It, uh, _sounded_ like ya just admitted to handing over a piece of evidence to the cops, which could lead right back to you." _Shit, shit, shit, shit._

"No, J, ya have to understand, there's no way that leads back to me," she rushed, snuffing her Marlboro out against the desk and flicking the remains aside. "Remember, I don't officially exist, they won't be able to find me in any database, even if they do have my fingerprints. It won't mean shit."

The Joker was in no mood for her excuses, however, that was made quite clear the next second, when Anne found herself being thrown into the wall with so much force the drywall broke. Struggling to keep her feet, she sent J a look somewhere between enraged and terrified. He ignored it completely, closing the distance between them in two long strides and grabbing her throat, keeping her firmly trapped. "I guess I have to spell it out for ya," he snarled, fingers digging into the soft skin on her neck and restricting the airflow. "When the _Batman_ gets his filthy little paws on that tracker - which he _will_." His fingers tightened and Anne grabbed his wrist in shock, vainly trying to pry his hand away. "Who do you think he'll trace it back to? Hmm?" The Joker gazed at her the way a teacher might glance at a student, the look so nonchalant, Anne wouldn't have known he was angry had he not been choking the life from her in that very moment. " _Enlighten me_." His voice dropped to a guttural rasp and his teeth bared themselves into the ugliest snarl; it was enough to nearly stop the contract killer's heart.

"Pari," she gasped out weakly, eyes beginning to water. She knew it was what he wanted to hear; J was making a point, _painfully_. Apparently, Anne's first attempt at speaking didn't satisfy the clown, because he raised his eyebrows still higher, turned his ear her way, and continued to look expectant. _You absolute cunt, I can't speak any louder, you're literally choking me the fuck out._ Fighting the desire to kick him in the groin, she managed to splutter loudly, " _Pari_!"

Seemingly appeased, the Joker released her neck. Anne immediately collapsed against the desk, racked with involuntary coughs as she tried desperately to regain her breath. She sent a hunted look over her shoulder at J, who was watching the after-effects with a smug grin. "Correct." His tone was light, as if they were simply speaking about the weather. "It will lead him straightttt to your little genius. And _then_?" The Joker folded his lips, pulling a look of feigned thoughtfulness. "Well, _Pari_ will tell him everything she knows. About you, about me, about all your… associates." He crowded in closer, causing Anne to shrink back against the wall, chest still heaving as she tensed up, preparing to make a break for it if J became violent again. "I _bet_ she'll even start working right alongside Gordon and the GCPD to, uh, save her own ass. And if she's as _bright_ as ya say?" He waged a theatrical finger at Anne. "Then who knows what the little rat will find." The Joker grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his black eyes. "All of your aliases, all of assets. She'll, uh, leave no stone _unturned_. She could even find this- this, ah, house." He paused, and when he spoke next his voice had become high and menacing. "Where will ya be then, doll?" His fingers tightened, nails digging into her skin. " _Hmm_?"

"They won't find her, J, I swear." The words were hushed and hurried, the whispered promise of a cornered girl. "Pari knows I'm looking for her, she'll have cut and run a long fucking time ago. There's no way she's still in the city." Anne widened her eyes, hoping the Joker could see the earnestness within them. "Even if Batman is poking around, she's smart enough to not get caught. Not even by him."

"Oh, he'll find her," J assured the contract killer, forcing Anne's head back against the wall until she hissed in pain. "You oughta know by now not to under _estimate_ Batman." He leaned back, surveying her through narrowed eyes. "This _Pari_? You shoulda killed her a long time ago. But I, uh, _guess_ I can't be too hard on ya." With those words he smiled, the action distinctly threatening. "After all," the Joker shuffled closer, shoving his painted face right next to Anne's and glaring at her with pinprick pupils, "you're not the, ah, _brightest_." His eyes alighted with sadistic joy, watching as she ground her jaw in anger. The contract killer could feel her blood reaching its boiling point. "Isn't that _right…_ dollface?"

The smugness of the Joker's grin sent Anne over the edge; she saw red. "Fuck you!" She spat, slapping his hand away and kneeing him in the balls. He doubled over at that, cackling wildly. "I was gonna fucking kill her the night of the drug bust!" Anne was seething now, taking a step forward and planting her heel in J's chest, hoping to knock him flat on his ass. Miraculously, he kept his balance, laughter increasing with every blow the contract killer gave him. "But then your fucking crazy ass gave me a concussion and the bitch slipped right outta my grasp! It wasn't _my_ fucking fault!"

The Joker kept on laughing, but something changed in his expression when he heard the word 'crazy.' His eyes, already darkened with anger, became blacker still, like a shark who caught the scent of blood. " _Crazy_?" He whooped, still slightly bent as Anne stood there, watching him with venom in her features. "That's a _convenient_ word, dontcha think?" Beaming from ear to ear, J seemed to recover himself fully and launched at the contract killer, who, eyes widening, grabbed the lamp off his desk and hurled it at him.

Unfortunately, he dodged it, the lamp shattering uselessly off to the side. Snarling, Anne reached for his computer, hoping to break his nose with it, when the Joker got to her. He grabbed her wrists with bone-breaking strength, wrestling her away from the laptop, and slammed her into the wall once again. Cursing inwardly, she saw his shoulder pull back out of the corner of her eye and barely had time to register what was happening before a blinding pain erupted on the left side of her head.

"You _cunt_ ," Anne growled, realizing he had punched her. The Joker merely snickered in response, raising his fist to do it again. Grunting, the contract killer kneed him in the ribs with as much strength as she could muster, hands still restrained by J. Her action stalled his forthcoming punch, as the clown decided to grab her leg instead, catching it against his torso and trapping it there, leaving Anne standing rather awkwardly on one foot. Thankfully, it didn't take a genius to understand that he was going to attempt and throw her to the ground next, now that he had successfully unbalanced her. She was ready, however, so that when J yanked her arms, Anne threw her remaining leg around his waist, clinging to his torso and butting him in the head. Momentarily disoriented, the Joker stumbled backwards while the contract killer bit the hand restraining her wrists as hard as she could. J released her, retracting his bleeding hand. Grinning, Anne bent backwards, palms finding the floor before she dropped her legs from around the Joker's waist and flipped to safety.

Unfortunately, once she had regained her feet, J had recovered too, and was on her in no time. He blocked her punch and landed one of his own, stars dancing before Anne's vision. The second blow seriously hurt her, and the contract killer realized that unless she got out of the room soon, there was a very high possibility the Joker would knock her out, and then she had a sickening suspicion he would get his switchblades and go to work. With that thought in mind, she dropped to the ground when she saw his next punch coming, feeling the wind from it stir her hair. Then, somersaulting between his legs, rolled to her feet and made a mad dash for the bedroom door.

The Joker, realizing she was attempting to escape, sprinted after her and caught up just as her hand touched the doorknob. _Fuck._ Anne felt his arms snake around her neck and pull tight, attempting to drag her further into the room. Knowing she wouldn't be able to resist his yanks for long, the contract killer instead drove her elbow backwards, hoping he would dodge it like he had done the night of Arkham, thereby giving her enough slack to flip them both over. But apparently, J had caught on, because rather than move, he simply took the blow, grunting slightly in her ear but otherwise appearing unharmed. _Fuck!_

"That _trick's_ not gonna work anymore, babydoll," the Joker rasped, tightening his arms. Suddenly finding herself completely unable to breath, Anne panicked. Thinking as fast as she could, the contract killer jumped up, pushed off the door, and flipped over J's head, breaking his hold. Wasting no time, she spun on her heel and smashed her foot into the side of his head, sending the clown sprawling to the ground, renewing his howls of mirth.

"What about that one?" Anne snarled, hopping over the Joker, who was shaking with laughter, and peeling out of the room.

She made it to her own bedroom in mere seconds, pounding through the hallway on feet propelled by a potent mixture of adrenaline and fear. Slamming and locking the door behind her, she immediately turned and kicked her wall as hard as she could, unwittingly putting her foot through the drywall. _God dammit, the walls in this house are gonna be destroyed by the time we're through with 'em._ Clenching her fists and trying desperately to control her raging anger (as well as her panic), Anne yanked her pack of Marlboros out and stuck one rather forcefully between her teeth, grappling in her pocket for the lighter. She found it in no time, bringing the cheap zippo up to her mouth and attempting to press the wheel fast enough to get a flame. Her hands were shaking too badly, however, and Anne found herself unable to light the cigarette.

Crimson flooded her vision yet again and, screaming in frustration, she hurled the lighter across the room. She fell to her knees as she watched it break against the opposing wall. _What am I fucking doing?_

Fury slightly abated, Anne found her adrenaline beginning to ebb away, allowing the pain to creep in at full force. Her head was still throbbing from where the Joker had punched and bashed her into a desk, ears ringing faintly from the blows. Anne was sure her face would be a study in blue and black the next morning, swelling and covered in bruises. She had a feeling all the makeup in the world wouldn't be able to conceal it. Her scalp was sore too, but that felt like a mere drop in the ocean of agony she was experiencing. To make matters worse, Anne was fairly sure she had popped one of the stitches, as the wound was burning something fierce.

A noise from down the hall caught her attention, and, worried that the Joker was coming into her room to seek his revenge, she scrambled over to where her discarded Glock lay. Grabbing it off one of the cardboard boxes serving as her nightstand, Anne held it pointed at the closed door, heart beating in her ears as she listened intently for any sounds that might warn her as to J's whereabouts. She swore she heard footsteps shuffling past her bedroom, but after waiting for what felt like an eternity, the contract killer began to relax, lowering her gun and setting it beside her on the floor as she realized the Joker would not be breaking down her door anytime soon.

Knowing she was safe for the time being, Anne unbuttoned her pants and yanked them down, inspecting her gunshot wound closely and finding that she had, in fact, popped a couple stitches. _Great, just my fucking luck._ Standing up, she limped over to the bag where she kept her first aid supplies (a necessity in her line of work), and set about disinfecting, restitching, and bandaging her wound. Yet again.

She muttered angrily as she worked, still furious at the Joker for calling her an idiot and then having the gall to get mad at _her_ when she termed him crazy. "I'm not fucking stupid, J," Anne ranted aloud to the emptiness. "I was gonna whack the bitch _literally_ that night, but then ya had to go and knock me the fuck out." She set her jaw as she cut and tied off the thread, placing her needle gingerly beside her. "It's _your_ fucking fault, not mine."

Finished with the gunshot wound, Anne refastened her pants and snatched up a small pocket mirror, using it to analyze the carnage on her face. Her forehead was already beginning to swell, as that particular blow had come somewhat earlier on in the night, and a large bruise was blooming across the skin there, mottled purple and blue. The rest of her face, for the most part, remained intact. The Joker's punches had largely focused on the left side of her head, around her ear and cheekbone. There would doubtless be some swelling and bruises there as well, given time, but her eyes, nose, and lips had emerged virtually unharmed. _Thank god._ Her neck was another story. Already she could see red, finger-shaped welts along the skin which would unquestionably turn into dark, angry bruises given time. She assumed some points along her arms, torso, and butt would bruise too, from where they had broken the drywall, but, altogether, Anne had emerged from the fight miraculously unscathed. Of course, the pain was still immense, and her head had borne the brunt of it; she projected it would continue spinning for at least another day. But, all things considered, she could count her blessings.

This fact did little to assuage her fury, however. _That_ was another matter entirely. In general, Anne realized she had a problem controlling her temper (anger issues being something of a prerequisite for contract killers), but her survival instincts had largely been able to combat this when she had been confronted by irritating bosses in the past. She had never lost her temper in front of Falcone or Mikhas, at least not to the degree with which she had unleashed her fury on J moments before. It did not bode well for Anne that the Joker had an ability to creep beneath her skin in a way not even Alexei had accomplished. Sure, her dead handler had annoyed the shit out of her, but that had largely stemmed from what he stood for, rather than his actual words. J, on the other hand, knew _exactly_ what to say to make her blood boil, to coax her into foolish and rash decisions. She recognized, even in the heat of her anger, how controllable it made her. And she knew the Joker understood this as well. Anne assumed it was part of the reason he liked her; he could make her act against her own best interests _and_ make her do it with a smile on her face. It made both Anne and the Joker more dangerous, in a way, but only the contract killer would inevitably get hurt in the long run. _I'm gonna need to work on my anger, if I'm gonna survive here,_ she realized. _Otherwise, J's gonna end up killing me in a fight._

Sucking on her teeth, Anne nodded once to herself then wandered over to where she kept her vodka, swiping a fresh bottle, and settling herself comfortably on the air mattress. She found a new lighter and placed yet another Marlboro between her lips, enjoying the staleness of the cigarette alongside the bitter alcohol. Watching the smoke unfurl before her, Anne checked the time: 2:47 am. _If I'm real lucky, I can sleep the entire day tomorrow._ She certainly planned to try her best. In no time, she downed almost a third of the vodka bottle and a couple sleeping pills for good measure. Eventually, exhaustion weighed heavily enough on the contract killer's shoulders that the darkness began to swallow her up…

" _Wake up_!" Anne's eyes shot open in a panic, focusing on the white, ghostly face peering at her from the pitch blackness. Heart racing, she instinctively reached for the Glock which lay beside her air mattress, head fuzzy and pounding in agony. However, someone caught her wrist in a gloved hand, forcing it backwards with such ferocity that Anne hissed in pain, brain addled with sleep and intoxicants, unable to tell what was happening.

"Uh, don't even… _think_ about it," the voice snarled, and it was only then that the contract killer recognized the clown's tone and pitch. _What… what the fuck is he doing here? How'd he get in?_ Casting a glance at her bedroom's threshold through the darkness, she noticed the outline of her door, which stood decidedly ajar. _Shit, he must've picked the lock._ Suddenly fearing that J had come in here to finish her off, Anne panicked and attempted to jump up, only to find that the vodka was still affecting her movements. She came crashing back down, knocking the alcohol bottle over in the process and thoroughly pissing off the already enraged Joker.

She heard the rustle of fabric then, the next second, a splitting pain tore across her abdomen and rib cage. J had kicked her. The blow left her agonized and winded, curling into a ball and clutching protectively at her stomach as she coughed and groaned. The Joker, apparently satisfied with her current level of pain and helplessness, did not attack her again, and there was a moment of silence before Anne felt the stir of warm, putrid breath on her face. It was only then that realized just how close J was, even if the darkness made it impossible to see him fully. Had she not been terrified of the clown's rage, she would have found his invisible nearness distracting for an entirely different reason. As it was, the contract killer had a hard time figuring out the exact emotions behind her pounding heart and spike in blood pressure.

Her chin was grabbed with a gloved hand, forcing Anne's face upwards and twisting her neck into an awkward, painful angle. Clenching her jaw, she felt the Joker press a piece of crumpled paper into her palm while growling in a guttural tone, "Clean up your _mess_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Lmao they're both brats. Also, the real romance here is between Anne and her gun, I think we can all agree on that. Just wanted to thank everyone for their patience and to give you guys a heads up: classes start for me next week so I'm not sure how much time I'll have to work on the next chapter. Things are about to get super busy and these chapters have suddenly gotten a lot longer than usual lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one, and thank you again to all those who have been reading!
> 
> Up Next: Pari has suddenly become the prime target among Gotham's most-wanted.


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